There is a Light
by belladonnacullen
Summary: This was 1987; before the Internet, before Twitter, before Facebook – this was back when it was still possible for people not to know about things: big things - like bands, and little things - like G-spots. AH, ExB, with some other parings along the way.
1. The Hand That Rocks the Cradle

**Twilight: not owned by me.**

* * *

><p><strong>The Hand That Rocks the Cradle<strong>

"The story began a long time ago," I explain, pushing my daughter's long brown hair out of her face and behind her ear.

"How long ago, Mommy?"

I quickly do the math. Then I gasp. "Twenty-four years ago."

"That's close to a hundred, right?"

"Closer to that than I'd like, Little One," I chuckle.

"And you were a girl then?"

"I was almost grown up, but not quite."

"Like a teenager?"

"Exactly. I was a teenager."

"And you lived with Grandpa _and_ Grandma?"

I pause. It's hard to believe my parents ever lived under the same roof. I don't like to remember that time in their history.

"Yes. They still lived together, then."

"But not anymore, right?"

"Right. This story began when they were just beginning divorce proceedings."

"Divorce is what big people do when they don't want to be married anymore. Like Aunt Rose and Uncle Royce," she says with a confident nod of her head. I like how it's so clean cut and black and white in her little mind.

"Exactly," I say. Perhaps it can be as cut and dry as that for Rosalie and Royce, although I doubt it. Their story began almost twenty-four years ago as well.

"And that's when you heard _them_ for the first time?" My daughter nods toward the rotating vinyl disc on the turntable. Them. Him. Yes.

"Uh-huh," I murmur, trying to put together the person I was when I heard them for the first time with the person I became after… everything.

My daughter turns up the volume. "You liked them the best of all, right?"

"More than that, I think. I felt like the lyrics spoke directly to me. Like they were written for me." I smile. I still think that. Sometimes more than others.

"_Lyrics_?" my daughter asks, furrowing her little brow. "The words, you mean?"

"Yes, the words."

She cocks her head to the side and long strands of hair fall across her pale face.

"Is he crying?"

I smile as I listen to the lilting moan and intricate guitars.

"No, Little One, he's singing."

"Oh."

I can tell she's unsatisfied with that answer. She prefers Lady Gaga and Beyonce, I'm sure. But she reaches over from the bed and turns up the volume a little more anyway. The melody still makes chills run down my spine. I still know every word. I hum along.

"I love it too, mommy. The most. Just like you do."

I hug my daughter. She holds her little arms around me as tightly as she can.

"Now it's time for bed."

She obediently presses the button that makes the needle rise from the spinning vinyl. Then she pulls the covers up to her chin. Her polka dot nightgown is quickly becoming too small and the sleeves no longer make it all the way to her wrists. She's going to be tall, just like her father.

"Tell me more one day, Mommy?"

"How about a little every day until the story's told?"

"Okay, Mommy."

"Okay, Little One. Night, night."

"Night, Mommy."

I gently close her bedroom door. I tiptoe to my room and find the box at the back of my closet. I haven't opened it since long before my daughter was born. I sift through a dozen little notebooks filled with the twisted cursive handwriting I carefully constructed as a teenager. The books are full of poems and quotes and lyrics and drawings. A handmade card flutters to the floor and my breath catches in my throat.

It was made for my seventeenth birthday. Thirteen watercolor irises float in a sea of green. There are thirteen for the date we were going to see them together, and also thirteen for the date I first met him. Lucky thirteen. Tears prick my eyes.

I tend to think just of the good pieces of this story, but so many of those parts only happened in my head. The reality of it all is stuck between pages of my fantasy, thrown away with old memories, buried deep in the sandy soil of Long Island, New York, and throw over bridges into the gray waters of the Hudson.

I know the story won't be the same without those bits.

I hope I tell it well.

I know one thing for sure: it all began with a question.

_Do you know The Masens?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope you enjoyed the prologue. This fic is maybe very different than anything I've written before... We'll see how it goes. Reviews are like that melody Bella was listening to: they make me smile and hum. Some even make chills run down my spine. **

**xxx, M**


	2. Miserable Lie

**January 11****th****, 1987 ~ Met Seth Clearwater today. He asked me to hang out.**

"Do you know The Masens?"

I didn't know The Masens.

"Um, yeah," I lied taking a step away from the boy that stopped at my locker to ask me such a completely random question. He was tall even back then, maybe close to six feet. When he grew up he'd top out at six five. He had big, brown ochre eyes and thick brown hair that was shaved up the back and sides and fell over his eyes in the front.

It was a skater cut. Seth Clearwater was a skater. I wasn't. He held the skateboard at his side as evidence that he was different from most of the student population, including me. He smiled and edged closer, like we already knew one another.

We didn't. We would, though. We'd know each other well.

There wasn't much room in the hallway between classes. Over three thousand students were crammed into a school built for half as many. As a result, we were forced to share lockers. My locker partner, Jessica, gave me a dirty look as I kept trying to edge backwards to create some space between Seth and me. She elbowed me in my side and made an incoherent grunting noise.

"Ouch!" I squeaked.

Seth's eyes flicked over to her. "Watch it, Hair Helmet," he growled. He tapped his board on the ground in warning.

Jessica's eyes went wide and she high tailed it out of there.

I covered my mouth with my hand to hold in the laughter. Jessica's poof and perm were as hard as plastic, styled to stand straight up and out in defiance of gravity and fashion sense – a hair helmet, indeed.

Seth placed his hand against the locker above my head and leaned in towards me, so that his chest was right in my face. I hadn't noticed until that moment that he was wearing a Masens concert T.

I knew who The Masens were… somewhat. They were a band that the skaters and the kids that wore black listened to. They were one of those bands that it was impossible to know about. This was 1987; before the Internet, before Twitter, before Facebook – this was back when it was still possible for people not to know about things: big things - like bands, and little things - like G-spots. This was a time when a girl that was too shy to ask questions walked around the hallways of her high school in the dark, and sometimes a little embarrassed, just because of all the things she didn't know.

"So, you know them?" Seth asked, smiling down at me.

"Yeah, I guess," I lied again, probably just because he was talking to me. He was big, and cute, and he'd scared off Jessica. She'd been a bitch to me all year.

"Awesome, because a couple friends are coming over tonight to watch this bootleg concert video I just got at Record Stop."

"_Tonight_?"

It was a school night. I didn't know that people got together on school nights. I certainly never did.

"You wanna come?" he asked.

I _did_ want to go. Seth's invitation was the most random and interesting thing that had happened in my uneventful high school career. I'd never spoken to him before and I didn't know a single one of his friends, but I'd watched them. I watched everyone; it's what I did.

The kids that Seth hung out with wore torn, black T-shirts and baggy plaid pants, their heads were all partly shaved, even the girls, and they had pierced ears, noses and eyebrows. And they listened to music that wasn't played on WBLI or WALK, and that wasn't sold at the mall. They smoked cigarettes and cut classes and hung out under the bridge down at the beach.

"Yeah, um, I guess I'll go," I stammered, trying to play it cool. Looking back, I'm not sure I even came close.

Seth's smile grew. "Where's your next class?" he asked.

"English, 216."

"I'll walk you," he offered, pushing himself off the locker. I noticed that he had some decent biceps under his baggy shirtsleeves.

"Okay."

People stared as Seth walked with me to my class. You might be thinking that I only _imagined_ people were looking at me because I was a teenager, but, no, they were really staring. The jocks and the guidos and the nerds might not have hung out with Seth and his crew, but everyone knew who he was. No one knew me. It was cause for major gossip, at least between fourth and fifth periods on that particular day.

Seth was talkative as we navigated our way through the winding halls, but now I can't remember a thing he said to me. I'm sure it just went in one ear and out the other that afternoon as I watched people watching me and tried to smile and nod appropriately. I remember my cheeks burning, though. And I remember that he held onto his skateboard in one hand and kept his other hand deep in his pocket. I remember his swagger as he walked really close to me, close enough that I was scared I might have B.O.

He looked me over from head to toe when we stopped outside my Advanced Placement English class. "You're just so preppy. It's awesome," he said, still smiling.

I didn't know how to take that.

"I love that shirt," he went on, when I didn't answer.

I bought the blue mock turtleneck at The Gap. It matched my plaid blue skirt perfectly… and my tights. I was into monochromatic outfits those days.

"And those Keds," he added and kicked at my sneakers. "Nice."

My heart fluttered for no reason that I could fathom. Maybe it was his big brown eyes. Maybe it was because he seemed so eager. Maybe it was because a strange boy was talking to me. "Oh, um, thanks."

Seth finally pulled his hand out of his pocket. He was holding a little worn piece of white paper.

"Here's my address. And my number. But don't call. My sisters will answer and they'll make our lives hell."

Seth handed me the little scrap, warm and damp from his palm. He'd planned ahead. My mind reeled.

"Maybe eight?" he asked. Kids gave us wide berth and weird looks as they streamed around us into the classroom. People like Seth didn't hang out in front of Advanced Placement classes.

"Eight?" I glanced at the address. I'd need a ride. I'd need to talk to my father. Eight o'clock was probably still safe; I wasn't sure how I'd get home, though.

"Okay, eight," I replied as the warning bell rang.

"Cool, Bella. See you then."

xXxXx

I'd worked at Newman's Sporting Goods in the mall since the end of my freshman year. Every day after school I took a bus that dropped me off there, and I usually had about twenty minutes to kill before my shift started. That day I put every second of my free time to use.

I darted around the… _helmet heads_, giggling at the new moniker I associated them with, and I was careful not to bump into the more criminally minded dirtbags, and I was worried and excited that I might see some skaters, but I didn't, as I bobbed and weaved my way to Record World.

I didn't have much hope that I'd find what I needed as I rushed past a life-sized cutout of Jon Bon Jovi to enter the tiny outlet store. The gods of alternative rock must have been shining down on me that day, though, because tucked away in a sale bin, under about twenty-five old Captain and Tenille tapes, was a copy of _The Masens_. I found out later that it was the band's first, self-titled album.

xXxXx

I still have that cassette tape today. I rummage under the notebooks and letters and pull it out, turning it over in my hands. The clear plastic case is scratched and dull, but the insert is in pristine condition. I listened to _The Masens_ so much over the years that the music is warped toward the middle of the album. Of course, I stopped playing it as soon as that happened.

I rushed back to Newman's right after I bought the cassette and I popped it into my Walkman and started from the beginning. I picked out as many of the lyrics as possible, and paused the music every few seconds to jot down the lines in a tiny little notebook as I took inventory in the stockroom.

I'd told Seth I knew _The Masens_, and I had this one tape to help me fake my way through.

The occasional falsetto was jarring, and the recording sounded fuzzy and rough and unpolished, and it all combined to make studying the lyrics really hard. Not to mention that there was some yelling and lots of unexpected tempo changes and there was mumbling, and talk of pinning and mounting and underwear and death.

I couldn't say I liked it, but I wasn't listening in order to like it. It was like an exam, and I was really good at acing exams.

I memorized the date it was published, the band members, the label, the studio it was recorded at, and the people that did the mastering, (even though I had no idea what mastering was). I remember staring at the blurry silhouette on the album cover, trying to come up with something appropriately artistic to say about it. All I could make out was a strong jaw, messy hair, and downcast eyes.

There was no way of knowing then, in that dingy suburban stockroom, that those eyes were bright green like the grass on the Presidio and that one day they'd been looking down at me.

I trace the silhouette that I hold in my hands, then flip the cassette and read through the list of songs. Halfway through the list, I pause.

I fell in love that day twenty-four years ago - halfway through the first side of the tape. I forgot about my crash course cramming about _The Masens_ and I fell in love with a song. It was a lullaby about monsters and knives and death, but a lullaby nonetheless. It took my breath away.

"What's that, Mommy?"

I jump and nearly drop the cassette I'm holding.

"Oh, Baby, I didn't hear you come in," I reply breathlessly as my daughter wanders into the room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"What is it?" she asks again, nodding at the cassette tape in my hands.

"I bought this on a very, very special day, Little One. The day I bought this, my life changed forever."

"Yeah?" she asks, instantly perking up, sliding closer.

I place the cassette tape in her hands. She looks at the silhouette of the lead singer on the cover. She traces it with her little finger. "He looks younger."

"To me, he was really old, but I fell in love… with his music, anyway."

"You loved 'm best of all, right?" she asks, bringing the cassette tape closer to her face and scrutinizing it more intently. It's hard to tell if she's referring to the band or to Edward Cullen's picture. It hardly matters.

"Yes," I answer. "The best of all."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I was blown away by the response to the first chapter! Thank you for all of the reviews and alerts and favorites! I would have responded if ff would have let me. Many thanks to my crew, MaryJaneStew & KikiTheDreamer for making this chapter more polished than The Masens first studio album. **

**There were questions: How much angst? How much heart fail? I don't know how to answer that, except that if there was any more angst than The Practice of Love I wouldn't be able to write it. Is there a HEA? Um, well, in life there are some happy endings and some not so happy. Argh... those were hard. Easier questions: Will the chapters be longer than the prologue? Yes. Will there be an update schedule? Maybe. **

**Until next time, xxx, M**


	3. The Boy With the Thorn in His Side

**Many thanks to MaryJaneStew for making this grammatically correct, and to KikiTheDreamer for keeping me on track musically and emotionally... Love you, ladies!**

* * *

><p>We settle in with popcorn. My daughter's so excited that she's practically dancing on the edge of her seat on the sofa. My foot clatters nervously against the hardwood floor. He'd hate this, but if I'm going to explain, if I'm going to tell the story, this is part of it.<p>

"Play it already, Mommy!" my daughter begs.

These days, of course, we have remote controls. I press play on the slim device in my hands, and there on the screen are the hordes of fans, cheering, excited.

"Where are _you_?" she asks.

"I'm not there."

"Oh."

Her face falls, but she dutifully watches. She gets that from me.

"I see him on the shirts," she says. And yes, they may have all been there to see The Masens, but nearly everyone on the screen has only _his_ face plastered across their chest.

Then in a rush of lights and screams, they're there, on the stage, all four of them.

"It's him!" my daughter cheers. Just like everyone else in the past and present, her eyes follow him and only him.

xXxXx

_**June 17, 1989 – Turned 19 today. Got caught watching a Masens video.**_

He caught me watching a concert video once. I didn't hear his footsteps and suddenly he was there, watching me watching him. I pressed pause immediately. His image froze on the screen: his arms held aloft, a self-assured sneer on his face, his shirt open to his navel. The real Edward Cullen sat down on the other end of the couch, near the wall. He pressed a button, raising the automatic blinds and bright sunshine invaded the room, highlighting his features while it made the image on the screen go dim and gray.

"What do you see, Bella?" he asked in a quiet voice, his eyes trained on the television. I swallowed nervously and glanced away from him, back to the image. It was sometimes still hard to concentrate when he was near, especially when he was so grave.

"I don't see you. I see someone else entirely."

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eyes. He sighed and clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth as he looked out the window over Central Park.

"You don't know me, though," he said.

"Despite your best efforts, I think that maybe I do."

He turned and looked at me, studying my face with fearful eyes, probably trying to figure out who this little girl was and where she got off calling him out on his con. And just when I thought he was going to ask me to leave, his face softened, and he smiled - the rarest of treats. My heart hummed.

"I'm glad, Bella."

xXxXx

**January 11, 1987 ~ Watched a Masens concert video with Seth Clearwater and Jacob Black. Jacob walked me home and gave me a tape. **

"Thanks, Daddy," I said as I leaned across the console to give him a kiss. His breath smelled like tomato sauce and just the barest hint of scotch. By then I'd become accustomed to the scotch, though.

"You sure you got a ride home?" he asked, patting my knee.

"Yes, Daddy," I lied. I figured I'd walk. Dad would be passed out and mom would be plain old out. They'd never know I walked the highway. "And you're staying in tonight?" I asked.

"Yes, dear," my dad joked, punching me a little too hard on the arm - hard enough to make the joke fall flat. He didn't mean it, though.

"Well, okay, sugar, study hard," Dad said with a wink of his glassy eyes and a sarcastic smile.

"I don't know what you're trying to say. I have a physics test tomorrow."

"And that boy looks very eager to help you with your _physics_," dad said, nodding past me. I turned to see Seth walking towards the car, smiling, (I could already tell that he always smiled). His mostly shaved hair was wet, and his baggy clothes were accessorized with black string necklaces, a nose ring, and black bracelets up one arm. It's not to say that a boy with half a head of hair and skater jewelry couldn't excel at physics, but in this case, dad was right.

Seth had no intention of discussing physics with me.

I grabbed my jacket, kissed my dad again, and hopped out of the car before Seth could reach us. I nearly slipped on a patch of ice as I jogged over to meet him, but Seth caught me just in time.

"Your father?" he asked, steadying me on my feet and giving a friendly wave in my dad's direction at the same time.

"Yep," I agreed.

"That's cool," he said, as my dad narrowly missed taking out Seth's mailbox with his minivan. Apparently, sometimes Seth lied too, and I appreciated it.

Seth didn't lead me through the front door, like I expected, but took me in through a side entrance that led directly into the garage. Or it used to be the garage. The bare cinder block walls were plastered with the concert posters of bands I didn't know, and the oil-stained concrete floor was covered with discarded clothes. Besides that there were skateboards, amps, a little TV set on milk crates, a space heater, and on a rickety old futon there was another boy: Jacob Black.

I'd seen Jacob around and I'd watched him, just like I watched everyone else. He was tall, like Seth, but he was lankier and his features were more delicate, with long lashes, high cheekbones, and full lips. He had a kind of short, floppy mohawk going on, and his fingernails were painted black.

"You know Isabella Swan, right, Jake?" Seth asked as he led me over to the futon. He kicked at Jake's combat boots so he'd sit up and make some room for us.

"Yeah, of course," Jacob said, giving me a once over as he scooted to a sitting position. We were three liars. I'd never said a single word to Jacob Black in my life.

"Hi," I offered with a nervous wave.

"Can we unpause this now?" Jake asked Seth impatiently as his eyes slipped past me to the T.V. set. I glanced at the screen, and there, frozen, was the face from the album cover: the jaw, the hair, the deep-set eyes; I'd recognize them anywhere after my in-depth studies that afternoon. His arms were frozen at odd angles like he'd been flailing them over his head and he was grimacing like he was in pain.

I put two and two together.

"Edward Cullen," I murmured. It was the first time I'd said his name out loud. It was also the first time I saw him, besides in silhouette.

Seth smiled. I got the sinking feeling that maybe he'd been onto my lie. "Have you seen this one?" he asked me, nodding toward the set.

"Uh, no, not this one," I hedged.

He took my hand very gently in his and pulled me down next to him on the futon. "Dude, Jake, rewind. Let's start at the beginning."

Jake rolled his eyes, but got down on his knees and pressed the rewind button on the VCR. Seth got me a blanket, because even with my coat on, sitting in an uninsulated garage in January on Long Island was kind of insane. Five minutes crept painfully by, and Seth talked about half pipes and Vans and Skidz, and he complimented my Sweater from The Limited even though it didn't fit in with anything from his world, and finally the VCR made a scary clanking sound, letting us know the tape was rewound.

Jake bent over to press play on the VCR and that was the first time I saw them, and I don't mean The Masens. Hundreds upon hundreds of kids with ripped jeans and denim jackets and ears full of piercings and shaved heads were throwing flowers on the stage, throwing themselves on the stage, losing their shit completely, happily. I was riveted. There might have been twenty-five kids at my school that knew about The Masens. I'd had no idea my world had been so small.

The kids on the screen were waiting, clapping, stomping, jumping, driving themselves into a frenzy… and chanting, but not for The Masens, for Edward Cullen. When the band came out onto the stage the audience exploded and I half expected bodies to burst and limbs to fly.

"Thank you," Edward Cullen said staring at the ground, in a voice so deep that my chest seemed to vibrate in response. Then turning his back on the audience, I watched him make eye contact with his band – Jasper, Marcus and Caius, I knew their names from my afternoon of studying.

With a nod from Edward Cullen, they were off… Or they _went_ off. The band erupted and Seth's garage was filled with a wall of discordant noise.

"_Seth_!" someone shouted from inside the house.

Jacob got on his knees again and turned down the volume.

I'd never heard the song they were playing, which didn't surprise me, but I could hardly be bothered with the music. It was Edward Cullen himself that drew me in. He was mesmerizing.

He held the mic and closed his eyes and line after line of desperate prose fell from his lips, like he was forcing it out, like it took great effort, like being up there was a sacrifice. Edward Cullen was a man, not a boy like Seth or Jacob. He was an older man that sang about dreams and pain and sex and looked for all the world like he was in ecstatic pain himself, bringing masses of misfits to their knees.

One after another, sweaty kids with Masens T shirts plastered to their bodies launched themselves onto the stage to hug him, touch him, to whisper things in his ear. In some ways I was very naïve, okay in many, many ways I was very naïve back then. I missed a big part of what I was watching. I didn't know.

Jacob was rapt. Seth seemed strung up and nervous. I studied Edward Cullen. He seemed really tall and his hair was all over the place, just like on the album cover, and he may have been wearing eye liner, and his hands were large enough to nearly obscure the mic he was gripping for dear life.

My heart pounded in my chest.

Seth licked his lips and touched my knee through my acid washed jeans.

Bodyguards knocked people back, keeping them away from Edward Cullen as best they could.

And then there was the song. That song. The lullaby. I gasped.

Seth glanced at me and his hand gripped my knee.

"I love this," I said breathlessly.

"Yeah?" he asked.

I nodded. "Ever since the first time I heard it." I didn't mention that was about four and a half hours ago.

Seth was about to say something when we were interrupted by loud banging from the other side of the garage wall. Jacob immediately paused the VCR once more.

Seth sighed. "Everybody's gotta go," he explained.

Jacob was already pulling on his bomber jacket.

Seth nervously glanced between me and the door that led to the house. "Uh, do you need to call your dad?" he asked.

"No, umm, I'm walking," I replied, pushing aside the blanket and standing to my feet.

"_Walking_? Where?" Seth asked. It was suburban Long Island. No one walked anywhere. I thought about lying again, I really did, but a lie about my address seemed harder to hide.

"Robinwood Drive, over by Mastic Road," I admitted.

"That's on the other side of the parkway!"

"Maybe you should ask someone to drive her," Jacob interrupted, throwing a cassette tape at Seth's head. Seth caught the tape in midair without even flinching and cast a withering glance at Jacob. Jacob gritted his teeth and shook his head, before turning in my direction and offering me a strained smile.

"Come on, Bella. It looks like I'm walking too."

"You are?" I asked, confused.

"Yep. Right past your house. See you tomorrow, Seth."

I looked back and forth between Seth and Jacob, but Seth was staring at the floor, and Jacob was already walking out the door.

"Um, thanks for having me over?" I tried.

"Sorry about the ride," Seth said, standing to his feet and glancing up at me.

"I wasn't asking you for one."

Seth took a hesitant step in my direction and ducked his head, and my heart hammered because I was sure a kiss was coming. He ran his fingertips over the top of my hand that was hanging limply at my side. And a kiss had been coming… a kiss on my cheek.

"Get home safe, Bella," he whispered, and his big brown eyes seemed to plead beseechingly with me, before he turned and left me standing in the doorway.

"Uh, okay."

I stumbled into the frigid night, pulling on my hat and gloves. We were really close to the shore and the wind literally turned to ice as it blew off the ocean. I had to run to catch up with Jacob.

"You don't have to walk me, you know," I huffed.

"He'll ask tomorrow," was all Jacob said, his hands buried in his coat pockets.

"You want me to tell him you did?" I asked.

"Like you told him you knew The Masens?" Jacob asked right back.

I narrowed my eyes at him, reached into my pocket and pulled out my new copy of _The Masens_ and held it in Jacob's face.

"Huh," was all Jake said.

"I really do love that one song. I didn't lie about _that_."

Jacob glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes.

"Why? Why would someone like you love it?"

"Like me?" I asked. Jacob just kept walking. It gave me time to think about the song. "Well, maybe because he's pleading to let the little boy love him," I answered. "He'd do anything to save him from the hell of this life, but he's not sure he deserves the boy's love."

Jacob stopped so abruptly that I almost bumped into him.

"It's like he's asking for love," I continued in a softer voice that the wind blew over our heads, until it was lost in a winter howl. "And he makes people want to give it, give their love, to him."

"Do you _really_ like Seth?" Jacob asked.

"I just met Seth."

Jacob turned and kept walking. I ran to keep up again.

"He seems really nice," I said.

"He_ is_ really nice," Jacob replied. "Just - I don't know… don't like him too much. Okay?"

"Why shouldn't I like Seth? Especially if he's nice?"

Jacob didn't answer. The only sound was the crunching of the frosty grass under our feet and the swish of cars on the highway. We'd have to cross soon.

"Jacob?" I asked, but my small voice was lost in the wind again. "Jacob!"

I grabbed Jacob's wrist and his black eyes glared at me, glimmering like onyx. He raked his eyes over me in a way that made me suddenly uncomfortable. "Where'd he find you?" he asked, shaking his head, laughing bitterly.

"Excuse me?"

"Sometimes I just don't get what he thinks he's doing."

And suddenly, I understood. I wasn't like Seth and Jacob. I wasn't a skater, so I didn't qualify as someone Seth should like.

"Oh my god, you're such an asshole!" I shouted to make sure my voice was heard. "I don't appreciate your tone, Jacob Black and I certainly don't need you to walk me home. Go fuck yourself!"

I stomped off down the highway. Car lights careened past me. I wrapped my arms around myself and picked up my pace. I was losing the feeling in my toes. Seth seemed so sweet; what was he doing with an asshole like Jacob Black?

"Bella!"

I walked faster.

"Bella, come back!"

I spun around. "You're already done fucking yourself? That was quick."

I didn't wait for an answer. I spotted a break in the traffic and darted across the highway.

"Jesus! Bella!"

I sprinted and made it to the other side of the six lanes just in time. The cold air hurt my chest, but I kept running. I didn't have far to go once I crossed the highway, just a couple blocks. I could run a couple blocks.

No. No, I could not. I bent double, gasping for air, cursing myself for not applying myself for two and a half years of phys ed. Jacob caught up easily.

"I said I'd walk you home."

"Fuck," I panted.

"Watching you run across that highway like that was all '_There is a Light'_, you know?"

I peered up at him from my bent double position.

"_There is a light that never goes out_…" Jacob said, eyebrows raised, looking at me expectantly.

"_And if a double-decker bus crashes into us_…" he tried again.

I blinked and stood up straight. I was missing something, but I didn't have the will to fake it anymore.

We thankfully walked the rest of the way in silence. My house was just a couple blocks from the shore, but not in a Miami Beach kind of way. The houses in my neighborhood had all been little beach cottages at some point in time; squat little square homes with no basements or attics. They were never meant to be a year round kind of arrangement, and were probably never meant to stand as long as they had been.

I was always nervous when strangers came face to face with the soggy and dingy little place I called home, but it was a shame I was prepared for. What I wasn't prepared for were the deep ruts cutting through the patchy lawn and the minivan stalled against the forsythia bushes.

"Oh my god!" I gasped. "Daddy? Daddy!"

I ran across the icy lawn and pulled the door open to find my dad unharmed, mostly. He was passed out and he'd pissed himself. I kicked the minivan, cursing.

"Bella, is everything -"

Jacob stopped when he saw.

"My mother's going to kill him," I growled.

She was totally going to kill him, and she'd use this against him in the divorce. I couldn't even say if that was right or wrong considering that she would be at her boyfriend's house until about six, tomorrow morning.

"Should we get your mom?" Jacob asked.

"She's not here," I admitted.

"We should get him inside then," Jacob offered. "It's cold."

Jacob was right. My dad's fingers were blue and drool looked like it was freezing on his face. There was no way I could carry my father anywhere, though. Jacob pushed me out of the way and without a word he pulled my dad from his seat and hoisted him up and over his shoulder. I pushed the front door open and led the way through the cluttered little house into the back bedroom, where Jacob kind of threw my dad onto the bed. I don't think it was on purpose.

Back outside, Jacob helped me find the car keys that my dad had dropped on the floor of the car. Afterwards, I collapsed into the passenger seat and Jacob closed his eyes and took a seat on the driver's side.

"Thanks," I said, without looking over at him. I was too cold and tired and embarrassed and overwhelmed.

"It's okay," he said.

"It's not, really. But I can pretend."

I saw Jacob peering at me out of the corner of his eyes. "You don't have to pretend with me. And not with Seth, either. I mean it."

"I don't even know you."

The implications of this night back at school were disastrous.

Jacob dug around in his backpack and pulled out a cassette tape, the blank kind you recorded stuff on. At least it looked blank.

"I got this off the college station a couple months ago. It's The Masens live at Jones Beach, two years ago. It's the best fucking thing I've ever heard."

I took the tape with trembling hands. Don't get me wrong, they were trembling due to the cold, not the significance of the tape.

"Thanks."

"You can make a copy. Get it back to me tomorrow."

"Right. Of course. Tomorrow."

Jacob clambered out of the minivan, and peered inside at me. "Night, Bella."

"Night."

xXxXx

_**June 17, 1989 – And then he made me a birthday dinner.**_

We hardly ever did something like this, something like sitting across the large mahogany table from one another, eating a meal. Somehow, though, he'd found out about my birthday, and he'd seemed especially eager to do this after our, I don't know what you'd call it in the den… confrontation? Non-confrontation? After we exchanged a smile and paused an old VHS tape?

"So, you think you know me?" he asked, his eyes glittering, his big broad smile hinting at the corners of his mouth.

I liked a challenge.

"I do," I said, spearing an unusually large stalk of asparagus with my fork.

"Go for it," he said, waving a cherry tomato on the end of his fork.

"Your mother is a librarian. She appreciates architecture, which might explain this apartment." I cast a skeptical eye around the ornate dining room. A cherry tomato was thrown in my direction. I didn't have the athleticism to catch it, so I dodged instead, laughing.

"That's elementary," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Although I suspect that your love of the aesthetic movement has just as much to do with this catastrophe," I continued, raising my eyebrows, smirking.

He narrowed his eyes. "All blame goes to my mother. Aesthetics," he mumbled dismissively with a wave of his hand.

"Your father is abroad on a fellowship to Oxford."

"Again," he said, quirking an eyebrow at me, "Anyone with a subscription to -"

"But that's not exactly the whole story. The separation hurts you, even though you're… your age." I finished the sentence mumbling. We were all well aware of the age difference.

"You've studied for this," he said.

"And although that pain might help fuel those sad lyrics you write, Edward, here's the thing. That's not you. You throw cherry tomatoes at girls. You play how well do you know me games. You're under there, dying to smile."

Edward plucked another tomato off of his plate and rolled it slowly between his long fingers. Then he passed it back and forth, hand to hand. Finally, he pressed it to his mouth and eased it past his lips. He watched me watching him.

"You're observant, Bella. And you watch and you take everything in and you write it all down in your notebooks. In all that looking outward, though, have you ever stopped and turned the mirror on yourself?"

He stood to his feet, another cherry tomato in his long fingers, rolling, walking slowly towards my side of the room. I swallowed nervously, frozen, just like he'd been earlier on the television screen after I'd pressed pause. Half of me was screaming to push the chair away from the table and run. Half of me was on fire. Edward Cullen was walking towards me. Ten thousand women would have fainted in this situation.

Edward pulled a chair up next to mine and took a seat, so he was sitting on it backwards. He pressed the tomato he was holding against my lips and I parted them just a little, so he needed to push to get it through. I closed my eyes and bit down. It was tart, which was fitting. Edward wasn't sweet.

My eyes were still closed as he began talking again, that low rumble that made my chest vibrate.

"Because if you ever really looked at yourself, Bella Swan, then maybe you would understand that the smiles and the games and the tomato throwing… that's you, Bella, the person that you are, just reflected in me."

And before I could open my eyes and focus, the chair was placed back against the wall and he'd left, without another word.

xXxXx

My daughter is jumping, dancing, twirling, spinning, clapping, smiling… and then the song is over and she whirls around to face me. "He's really, really good, Mommy!"

"I know, Little One. I know."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading an reviewing and rec-ing this fic... I'm so appreciative of the support it's gotten. **

**I post teasers on facebook & you can find me at: ht tp : / / www . facebook . com/belladonna . cullen2**

**or on Twitter at: BellaDCullen**

**Happy Memorial Day to my U.S. readers & Happy Friday to everyone else.**

**Until next time, XXX, M**


	4. What She Said

**A/N: Loads of thanks to MaryJaneStew and KikiTheDreamer for going above and beyond this week. I don't know what I'd do without you guys!**

* * *

><p>We leaf through the little photo album. The fact that it's small is not lost on me. Everything from that part of my life is small: photo albums, notebooks, dress sizes, dreams.<p>

"You look funny," my daughter says. "And pretty," she quickly adds.

I gaze down on the three of us in the photo. I can see now that I was pretty, although at the time I hadn't a clue. In the picture my eyes were outlined with black eyeliner, my face was powder pale, and my lips shined deep red. My head was shaved from the nape of my neck up just past my ears, and what hair was left on the top of my head was pulled back into a high ponytail, red streaks cut through the brown, and two long, straight strands artfully framed my face.

"Who's he?" my daughter asks. Her fingertip leaves a smudge on Jake's face. Jake wasn't smiling like Seth and I were in the photo. He never smiled. Sometimes I wondered about how genuinely troubled Seth and I were, but I never had doubts about Jacob. His anger and sadness were as unavoidable and isolating as the ocean that surrounded the island I called home.

"Mommy, who _was_ he?" my daughter asks again.

"He was my friend."

"Like a boyfriend?" Her big brown eyes search mine. Her question shouldn't be so hard to answer.

"Yes," I concede.

"But what about -"

"He was my boyfriend too," I try to explain, nodding at Seth's smiling face.

"At the same time?" She's incredulous.

"I loved them both in different ways," I explain and check in with my daughter. Her arms are folded stiffly across her chest. Silence stretches and I sense not so subtle six-year old indignation.

"_Not_ at the same time," I add somewhat defensively, although I realize my feelings are ridiculous. I hadn't planned on dating them both. Only one of us had a plan for survival back then, and that had been Seth. Jacob and I were just winging it.

xXxXx

**April 21st, 1987 – Angela Webber can be a real bitch.**

"So, how long have you and Seth been going out?" Angela asked as we sat on the curb and watched the boys skate.

"Uh, I don't know," I hedged. (We'd been going out for two months and ten days – seventy days all together). "A while, I guess," I added with feigned nonchalance.

Angela's eyes followed her boyfriend, Ben, as he almost landed an ollie. "Huh."

She let the syllable hang in the air, like it held deep meaning. I didn't take the bait. I concentrated on watching Seth; he could land an ollie with no problem. His hair fell in front of his face and his muscles rippled as he kicked out his back leg, making the board jump into the air and landing perfectly just a few feet away.

After a few more attempts on Ben's part, Angela turned to look at me again, giving me that kind of head-to-toe once over only a girl can do well. "You guys do it, yet?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

Angela smirked. "I didn't think so."

The fact of the matter was that Seth and I had hardly done _anything_ besides kiss, and even that was quick and unsatisfying. We held hands and we touched, and when I say 'touch' I'm talking knees and elbows kind of touching. No bases were rounded. At the end of the night he'd brush his chapped lips against mine and he'd gently trace my cheek with his enormous hands. That was it.

"It's none of your business, you know," I said to Angela, kicking at the sand along the curb. Sand lined every crack and crevice on Long Island's south shore.

"Yeah, well, I'm surprised you've lasted this long," she replied before jumping to her feet, prancing over to Ben and throwing her arms around his neck like she was proving something to me with their embrace. I was a kid, so of course I thought Angela knew better than me, and that she had some insider knowledge that was just beyond my grasp. I mean, she'd seen The Pixies live twice and said she knew somebody that was in NoFX. Looking back, though, I'm confident that while I was in the dark, so was Angela Webber, along with everyone else in our school.

To seventeen year old me, though, Angela's words were an indictment. It was suddenly, glaringly obvious that I was doing something wrong. Seth and I weren't physical, and it meant he'd be breaking up with me shortly. It was the only conclusion I could come to.

I don't remember if it was that night or the next that I acted on the information, but I was determined to let Seth know that I was very willing to do more than kiss. That was difficult, though, because by that point, Seth, Jake and I were kind of inseparable.

After work, I'd head over to Seth's garage and the three of us would listen to The Masens and make fun of the videos they played on MTV, even though I secretly loved a lot of them. Jake and Seth would skate and I'd write down song lyrics in my notebook and draw intricate borders around the page, or I'd read, or sometimes I'd write, too.

We traded in Masens tapes – bootlegs, imports, re-issues. We talked in lyrics and I felt I understood them instinctually. Edward Cullen took his sadness and wrapped it around himself as an identity and then threw it back in our faces, and kids everywhere that didn't fit in cheered on his downcast eyes and devastated existence.

Jacob, Seth and I were sad together and in love with The Masens together. Our lives were unsatisfying together, and we counted Edward Cullen as one of our group, the leader in absentia.

We didn't need to talk about the source of our sadness out loud, though. I didn't need to share the fact that my father had started drinking during the day and that I'd go a week at a time without seeing any signs of my mother around the house. I didn't know what fueled Jacob's rage, but Seth and I both knew that he'd started popping his mom's pills to make himself feel better. And then there was Seth; the way he was an outsider in his own family. I knew it was bigger than his hair and his clothing, and I knew that he'd had an out and out fistfight with his dad just before we'd met, but that's all I knew.

I didn't ask, either. Asking was frightening. I waited for the explanation. It would take more than a year for that explanation to finally come. It would almost kill Jake, and it would set Seth free. And it would leave me without a friend in the world. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I took Angela's words to heart. I didn't want to lose the new home I'd found with Seth and Jake, and to be honest I was dying to be touched in other places besides my knees and face. So, I made my move the first chance I had alone with Seth.

Seth was lounging on his garage floor, reading some European music magazine - they always covered The Masens better than anything you could find in the states, even though the band was based in New York City. I scooted closer to him until our arms were touching and I pretended to read over his shoulder. Really, I was dying inside.

"June thirteenth, Bella," he murmured, gazing down at the article and the picture of Edward Cullen that accompanied it. "Can you believe it?"

"No," I said honestly. I'd seen countless videos, I'd listened to their music every day since I first met Seth, but I couldn't believe that I'd be seeing The Masens live, at Jones Beach, in just two months.

"Thank god Jake got his driver's license," Seth murmured absently.

"Thank god I'll be seeing them with you," I replied, brushing Seth's arm with my fingertips.

Seth smiled and leaned into my touch. "I knew you'd get The Masens, Bella. I just knew."

"I really like you, Seth."

"I like you too," he replied, leafing his way through the magazine.

"I mean, I _really _like you," I tried to clarify.

Seth took notice. He placed the magazine on the ground, crossed his legs and spun around so he was facing me. He took my hands in his. "I've seriously never felt about a girl like I feel about you, Bella."

Wow.

I took that as my cue, and I leaned across the space between us and pressed my lips against Seth's. He seemed shocked at first, but after a second he eased into things and kissed me back, slowly exploring my mouth, his hands running from my shoulders to my hips, where he held me so carefully you'd think I was made of flower petals. I moved closer, so that our knees were touching, so that my little breasts almost brushed against his broad chest, and when he didn't take the hint, I slowly moved my hand from his knee, up his inner thigh, under the edge of his baggy shorts.

"Bella, I don't, I mean…" He grabbed my hand. He kissed my lips again. He stared into my eyes. "I like you so much."

"I like you too."

We were going in circles with all of this liking, but we weren't getting anywhere.

Jake chose that moment to stomp into the garage, but hung back by the door when he saw Seth and me on the floor… doing nothing… again. Seth asked Jake to give me a ride home. He broke up with me two days after that.

I'd thought Seth broke my heart when he broke up with me, but I'd had no idea how completely a heart could break. I'm only learning now how to put it together again.

xXxXx

"Next, Mommy."

My daughter's voice is somewhat imperious and it shocks me back to the present. She's still quietly studying the picture of Seth, Jake and me, but I can tell that she's grown impatient with my silence.

"Sorry, Little One. I was lost in a memory."

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Whatever, Mommy. I want to see more."

I slip my hand underneath the divider in the photo album and flip to the next page.

My breath catches in my throat.

We stare at a picture of a black, baby grand piano. By all accounts this photo would seem to be out of order in the album, but for me, today, it makes perfect sense.

My daughter has lost all patience with me, though. I let her grab the photo album from my hands and skim ahead, but I hold the picture of the piano in my memory.

xXxXx

**July, 1989 – He admitted it, kind of. I'm starting to think that maybe… No, I can't even write it.**

He'd been home for weeks, and he'd been quiet and withdrawn, but not sad or brooding or anything along those lines. I could tell that he was content with what had happened.

Of course, I was astounded. The music world had been rocked. The Masens were over. I found out about it on Page Six. Not from him. Edward and I didn't talk about it.

I was taking a summer course at NYU. I had a data entry job that Edward adamantly derided as being far beneath me whenever it was mentioned. So, I didn't mention it, but I kept the job. _I _wouldn't be kept, that's for sure, even if it was in a very different sense of the word.

Sometimes I thought I caught him staring at me across the breakfast bar. I thought _maybe_ he made sure to be home each day when I came back from work or school.

We'd taken to spending the hours between six and eight in the library, reading. He didn't bother with his contact lenses, opting instead for his thick-framed reading glasses. And he'd usually wear a threadbare cardigan over whatever concert T he had on. More often than not it was the New York Dolls. (The music mags got some things right; Edward loved The Dolls). Contrary to what all those magazines reported, though, Edward preferred science fiction to the romantics. I laughed out loud that first time he pulled _Radio Free Albemuth_ off the shelf and started reading.

"Excuse me?" he asked as I shook my head, quietly chuckling.

"Philip K. Dick?" I asked. While I'd spent time dreaming of him reading Keats and Yates for lyrical inspiration, he'd been dreaming about spaceships and aliens and post apocalyptic futures.

"What's wrong with Dick?" he asked.

I sputtered, laughing harder and tears streamed down my face.

"What?" he asked.

"Tell me you didn't _really_ just ask me that." I tried to stop laughing. I wheezed and gasped. When I came to, Edward was staring at me, eyebrows raised, pretending not to be amused.

"I'm calling _Spin Magazine_ and telling them once and for all that you like Dick," I teased. We didn't have tomatoes in the library, so Edward threw a compendium of Mark Twain's short stories at me, instead.

I saw the hint of a smile.

I settled back into my chair with the copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ that I was dispassionately reading for my literature course.

I couldn't concentrate, though, and neither could Edward. I sensed his eyes on me. I shifted in my seat. I tried not to think about dick. In my head I sauntered over to him and whispered dirty things… about dick, of course - his dick in particular. The one I'd never even come close to, mind you.

Almost as if he could read my thoughts, Edward abruptly left the room.

He played the piano in the foyer each night, really late, after I was supposedly in bed – music that sounded nothing like The Masens. It was intricate and quiet and light and, well… pretty. I'd listen, imagining his fingertips on the ivory keys and I'd toss and turn and finally give in and use my own fingers to help myself settle down to sleep.

But it couldn't go on, night after night, day after day, two people sharing a space without speaking, without acknowledging the looks or the emotions swirling just beneath the surface. Maybe Edward could have lived that way, but I certainly couldn't. So one night, before I gave in to my own touch, I left my room and padded down the long hallway to the foyer. I didn't try to hide; I walked right across the circular space and took a seat next to Edward on the bench.

He pretended I wasn't there, but I heard the hiccup in the melody that came from his fingers.

"This is really… pretty," I offered.

I wanted to think he leaned towards me because of my mere presence, but I knew that he was just reaching for a higher octave.

"Is it something you'll, maybe, do next?" I asked hesitantly.

Edward shook his head in time with the melody. "No one wants to hear this kind of thing… from me," he said, very quietly.

"You're insane," I replied.

I watched that hint of a smile grow. "So, you really do know me then," he chuckled. "Tell me more about myself and my insanity, Bella."

_Bella_. I loved hearing him say my name. I'd lie awake in my cramped little twin bed back at home in Mastic Beach and dream of him saying my name.

Edward was watching me again. Right, he'd asked a question.

"You like this," I said, nodding towards his fingers working the keys. "This music. It's different, but you can't stop playing it. It's something new that you can't walk away from."

He closed his eyes as he continued to play. I closed my eyes too. I took a deep breath and grabbed the edge of the piano bench like I was hanging on for dear life.

"This piece in particular... you wrote this… after you met me… it's maybe either about me, or to me. I think, anyway…"

I opened my eyes and peeked at Edward. His eyes were still closed, but you'd have to be as cold and hard as the marble under our bare feet not to feel the mounting tension in the air.

My hand seemed to move of its own volition. I watched in wonder as I let go of the bench and placed it over his knee.

"You want to kiss me," I murmured.

"Kiss me." His words were so soft, that I convinced myself that they weren't real.

"What?" I asked.

Edward opened his eyes and his hands slipped from the piano keys and he turned so that he was facing me on the bench.

"You heard me," he said, like he was a teacher desperately trying to remain patient with a student.

I had heard him.

I was scared to death.

I tried not to shake as I leaned in and brushed my lips against his. I forgot my fear, though, as all the pleasure and pain and disbelief that had been building up inside me ever since he'd claimed me, came together and crystallized into something so intense that it nearly hurt where we touched. I parted my lips, shocked at the light and the heat that burned between us, that burned within me… shocked at the way the air was forced from my chest, and shocked at the way I climbed onto my knees and took his face in my hands, at the way he fisted my hair and kissed me back.

Shocked by the way he kissed me back. He kissed me back.

He. Kissed. Me. Back.

I crossed some imaginary threshold as I made out with Edward Cullen on a piano bench, in his apartment, in the dark. I wandered into a new existence as his hands cupped my face, then slipped down my bare arms and around my waist.

I basked in the warmth of his lips. I tried not to faint. And then we were panting. And his bright green eyes were right before me, all I could see.

"I knew it," I whispered edging off the seat and finding my footing on the marble floor. Edward's eyes flickered over me. These days, I understand the hunger I saw in them. Back then, though, I could hardly hope. I simply bit my lip (that still tasted like his salty skin) and I went back to bed. He didn't come after me.

To this day I'm amazed at my actions. When you're a child, you make ballsy moves. You also think you have all the time in the world.

xXxXx

**Present Day, San Francisco**

I get so lost in my memories that I completely lose track of the time. My daughter has rehearsal for The Nutcracker Ballet, and she's late… and apparently, she's still mad at me for two-timing Seth and Jacob twenty-four years ago. We don't have time for a better explanation at the moment, though. That explanation will have to come in the next chapter of my story. We have just enough time to get her changed into her leotard and tights and get her to the studio.

Her instructor purses her lips when my daughter rushes into rehearsal ten minutes late, with her hair in a ponytail instead of the requisite bun.

I'm also late for brunch. I dash across the street and duck into the small café. He has a coffee and a chocolate croissant waiting for me. Twenty-four years ago it would have been a bottle of Riunite that he stole from his parents and a bag of Combos.

And even though I'm sitting across from one of my favorite people in the world, I still find it hard to keep my mind in the present.

"I'm extremely jealous, you know," he says, as he playfully nudges my foot with his. He knows me so well.

"Of whom?" I ask, playing coy.

Seth's dark eyes glitter. San Francisco suits him. He teaches literature at Berkley. His students love him. He's achieved academic rock star status. I always knew he had it in him.

"Should we talk about -" Seth begins, but we're interrupted.

"Excuse me?" a young woman asks, smiling excitedly, her eyes darting between Seth and me.

"Yes?" I answer.

"Are you… _Bella Swan_?"

Seth sits back and gets comfortable, stretching his legs in front of him, his arm thrown over the back of the chair, watching proudly.

"I am," I reply, shaking my head at Seth.

"Could you?" she asks, sliding something in front of me.

"Of course," I reply, self-consciously. "What's your name?"

"Corinne," she answers. "Corinne Heart."

I scribble something meaningful that someone once scribbled for me. I figure that it worked it's magic once. Maybe that will happen again.

When Corinne leaves, Seth is all big, meaningful smiles and smirks.

"Just remember that I was the one to pluck you out of obscurity, Bella Swan."

I raise my eyebrows. "_You_ were?"

This time Seth's the one to shake his head, and he's momentarily lost in his mug of coffee. He sets it down on the table, and stares at me with sincere adoration.

"I've always loved you, Bella, and I want you to know that I couldn't be happier with the way things have turned out."

This time I'm the one to shake my head. It still hurts, and I know Seth must feel it too.

"Not everyone's ending can be happy," he explains. "But yours…" Seth smiles again.

"And yours?" I ask.

"How could you even ask?" His fingers fiddle with the small picture in his hands. I take another sip of my drink.

"When was the first time you thought you might get your happily ever after?" Seth asks.

I know, of course, with crystal clarity. The feeling was decades premature and somewhat misplaced, but anyone with any amount of insight knows the first time they see the glimmer of a happy ending in their lives. When they get a hint that the future could just be as bright as they'd hoped.

"None of your business," I reply, trying to keep the blush off of my cheeks.

Seth chuckles and punches me playfully on the arm. "It's going to be like that, Swan?" he asks. "Fine. I'll leave you to your thoughts while I get a refill."

xXxXx

**October 24th, 1989 – So many firsts.**

I woke and I blinked, and then I focused, and then I knew. He was still with me in my bed and I was astonished and scared… frightened that with one false movement I'd wake him and he'd be gone.

So I held my breath and I watched the quiet rise and fall of his chest with awe. I studied… the dark brown stubble on his face that the world never saw. I watched the way that his strong jaw, which was always so tense in interviews and onstage, how it was relaxed in sleep. I wanted to trace its contours, but I didn't.

I followed the beat of his pulse from his neck to his chest, my eyes traveled in the direction that the soft glistening hairs on his arm pointed: from his biceps to his wrists, to his limps hands and long fingers tangled in white sheets. I couldn't see much more, but his knee was pressed against my thigh, and I focused on the warmth where our bodies met. It was evidence.

"I love you," I whispered. I'd said it before, to two separate people, but this was different. I tried to tell myself that this felt deeper because I'd fallen in love with him years earlier, but I suspected that it was something more. Maybe I'd fallen in love with the man I saw on stage - his public face, but I loved the face with the stubble more.

"I love you so much," I repeated, knowing full well I was scared to death to say it when he was awake, and also knowing that my fear was intelligent, because my feelings wouldn't be greeted with smiles and heartwarming declarations, but with dismissal and perhaps even revulsion.

The sun's angle changed as the minutes wore on, and before I could move and cast his face in shadow, Edward blinked. Two emerald emergency lights lit the bedroom. My heart fluttered, and I froze. I was the first thing he saw and I didn't know what he'd do.

And just like I feared, he stirred immediately. His body reacted swiftly and decisively.

Primed for rejection, I was caught completely off guard when he knocked me back against the mattress, when his mouth claimed me and he held my face in his large hands. His knee parted my legs and his body came flush with mine. I could feel his heart pounding, I could feel how much he wanted me… in daylight, in the morning.

"Fuck," he growled, and I couldn't tell if it was with frustration or lust. I couldn't care. He grabbed my ass in one of his hands, lifting my hips off the bed, driving himself inside me with a single thrust.

I gasped. He stilled. His eyes met mine again.

"Don't stop," I begged.

My chest rose and fell between us. Edward kept his eyes on mine as he leaned his elbows on either side of me. He kissed me with eyes open. He kissed me slowly. He kissed me as he started to move inside me.

He made sure my legs were wrapped around him. And he kissed my ear, and down my neck, and across my shoulder. His mouth moved in time with his thrusts and he nibbled and sucked and fucked, as I was still stunned that he was there in the first place. Edward's breathing grew labored and his hips hammered against mine, and my heels dug into his back as my body started to register that this was very, very real.

"Edward?" I half asked and half gasped.

"Fucking fuck," he rasped with his mouth pressed against my collarbone.

I raked my fingers down his back.

"Fuck," he grunted as he drove himself into me in a hard, off-beat staccato rhythm. And he knotted his hands in my hair and kissed me, devoured me really, and nearly tore me in two as he came inside me.

I tried to catch my breath as Edward slowly rocked: still moving, still kissing, with lips intent on loving. His hands had gone gentle, reverentially ghosting over my skin.

Finally he stilled, settling on top of me, still inside of me, his nose against mine.

I relaxed.

He was still there.

Even better: he was smiling.

"You're still here," I murmured out loud without meaning to. I took my chances and ran my hands through his wild, copper-colored hair.

"Surprising," he admitted.

"Stupifying," I agreed.

"Satisfying?" he asked.

I shrugged. He cocked his head to the side. Then he pinned my body underneath him and surprised me again, tickling me mercilessly, so that I thought I'd die for lack of air. I kicked and pushed back against him and smiled and wrestled, and sheets and pillows were knocked off the bed until there was nothing but him and I together on a mattress, gasping for air.

He pushed the hair from my face and his eyes settled on mine. "You're something," he said.

It was the most we'd ever said about fucking. I took a deep breath, watching him carefully.

"Short-lived?" I asked.

Edward opened his mouth as if to speak, but paused. He licked his bottom lip, like he was the nervous one. "Always remember the way you feel now, Bella, and then you won't have to worry about that."

I have always remembered that feeling. I've held it close through the hard times; I've kept it like a secret gift. The light that streamed through the windows lit up more than Edward's face that fall morning so long ago, it lit a fire in me that's burned straight through to this day.

Some fires never go out. Some lights burn forever.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know I'm jumping around a bit at first, but the storytelling should become more linear as I go on. Hang in there and you won't be sorry (I hope?). Serious thanks to everyone for their reviews & tweets and recs and stuff! Feel free to keep them coming, too, if you want.**

**Looking for a funny read after all of this angst? If you're not reading Meet the Masens by Fiction Freak95, what are you waiting for? And then there's Finding Bree Tanner by coldplaywhore. Oh my god, funniest Emmett ever...**

**With that, I'm out until next time... It looks like Friday updates for the foreseeable future. xxx, M**


	5. Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others

**A/N: It took my daughter to make me appreciate _Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others_ by The Smiths. It took this story to finally figure out that the lyrics had more than one meaning. Huh.**

**Many, many, many thanks to MaryJaneStew for helping me this week, and to KikiTheDreamer for talking me off the ledge. They're my rocks on Thursday nights as I'm doubting everything and biting my nails to the quick.**

**Loads of thanks to my ladies at TLS (you know who you are) for supporting this little fic from the very beginning, and to the WPoF for making me laugh way too much at work, and to my ladies (& guy) in the TiaL group on facebook.**

**And thanks to everyone that voted for Fic of the Week! There is a Light won along with fics by Fiction Freak95, CaraNo, and Savage. Wow.**

* * *

><p><strong>July 1989 – Edward taught me how to play piano a little. We talked about big things.<strong>

Edward's fingers patiently guided mine as he taught me the melody to my song. While he could make notes surge from his fingertips, all intricate and sweet; coming from me it sounded like an off-kilter, halting plea to put me out of my misery. I was a horrible piano player, but Edward didn't seem to mind. I cringed with each wrong note I struck, but I would have risked any amount of embarrassment to sit wedged between his body and his arm, with his warm breath on my neck.

It was hard to concentrate like this. My body vibrated and I was certain it wasn't just from the deep bass of the piano. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on my forehead. I was strung as tightly as the strings, aching and short of breath. It did nothing for my piano proficiency.

We hadn't spoken of the kiss. We hadn't kissed again. But this touch: the way his body was gently pressed against mine, the way he was subtly wrapped around me, he gave a little more every day.

His nose ran along the back of my neck, his thigh rubbed against my bare leg.

I couldn't continue. I closed my eyes and took what I hoped was a steadying breath.

"Is this how you treat _all _the little girls that kiss you?" I managed to ask.

He didn't move his body or his arm, even though I'd stopped playing. He didn't deny it, either. His fingers fell against mine over the keys in what could have been described as a caress.

"You're the only… _little girl… _at the moment. And you're nineteen – not completely… little. You're actually much bigger than you imagine yourself to be."

I couldn't care what he said about little and big. I also ignored the evidence that I'd been off base about some old Masen's lyrics. I heard just one word.

Only.

"I'm the _only_ one?" I asked breathlessly. I couldn't keep the hope out of my voice.

He let his fingers rest atop mine. His mouth was so close to my ear.

"Random sex is boring, Bella."

My nerves fired so violently that I wanted to bolt from the room, but that's what a little girl would do. Instead, I tried to fill those big shoes Edward was talking about, hoping against hope to live up to his impression of me. So, I picked up where I'd left off with the piano composition, and Edward's fingers slid from mine, allowing me to play without his help.

I was at this part in the melody that came easily to me, where the notes warbled and repeated in a lingering pattern that slowly grew in intensity and volume. I managed to lose myself in it: in his music, in his scent, in his presence, in the words he'd just spoken. I was the only one. I almost leaned against him. Almost.

"Any girl you want…" I asked as the melody repeated and wound in on itself. "As many girls as you want…" The phrasing repeated again and again, louder and more insistent. "Is that really boring?"

Edward didn't answer - just in time for a dramatic pause in the melody. After a couple shallow breaths on both our parts, I continued on with the piece, softer and somehow more assured.

The melody traveled up to a higher octave and I was forced to move against him. I felt the soft cotton of his T-shirt slide along my bare arm. I could just make out the uneven spring of his chest hairs underneath the threadbare material. He smelled like nutmeg and cardamom, although back then I didn't know the names of the spices; they just made me think me of eggnog. These days, the smell of Christmas still reminds me of Edward.

"Is being alone really better, really less boring than… all that?" I asked. There was no way I could say 'random sex' out loud to Edward Cullen.

"I'm not alone," he murmured. Edward's leg brushed against mine again. It nearly seemed intentional. I saw his Adam's apple bob out of the corner of my eye.

"And you're most certainly not boring," he continued as he ran his nose down the side of my neck again. I liked his nose, but what about his lips? Would he ever kiss me? Would I have to be the one to kiss him again? Always?

"Having you here with me, Bella… it's befitting of this new chapter of my life," Edward continued as he buried his nose in my shaggy hair and took a deep breath. For some reason, that's what pushed me over the edge. It was no mystery; I used Pantene, and I needed him to stop playing with me. I spun around to face him on the bench.

"What is this new chapter?" I demanded impatiently. Did it involve kissing?

Edward smiled, and it made my heart flutter and it made me want to hit him. How could he look so pleased when I was hanging on his every movement, his every word?

"Piano man? Ladies' man?" he answered with a bemused chuckle, his fingers rested gently on my knees.

I didn't know how to respond. I glared at him. Maybe he was flirting, but my palm was itching to make contact with his face. And for what? For not kissing me? Edward cleared his throat and looked at his hands.

"I don't know yet, Isabella. I only know that this chapter involves an unlikely, but very deserving female lead. I found her two years ago, wet and bedraggled in a swamp, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since."

My breath caught in my throat.

His smile was cautious when he peaked up at me, his green eyes lighting the dim room. "You manage to draw something out of me I never knew was there."

"Really?" I asked, my anger momentarily vanishing.

"I thank the fates for bringing you to me."

"Seth and Jake," I mumbled. I honestly hadn't meant to speak. Their names just popped out of my mouth.

"Excuse me?" he asked, grasping my hands in his long fingers.

"I know there are supposed to be three fates," I explained, staring at his fingers wrapped around mine. Edward Cullen was nearly holding my hands. "But in this case there was just… Seth and Jake." I shrugged. This time I was the one to peak at Edward.

"Yes, let's thank Seth and Jake," Edward sighed. Of course, he'd heard their names before, but I was impressed that he seemed to remember them. "This chapter wouldn't have been the same without them."

xXxXx

**April 26****th****, 1987 – It turns out that Jake's nicer than I thought and Seth's a lot weirder.**

I was mortified and I felt disgusting. From everything I'd ever heard, guys only wanted one thing, but Seth broke up with me rather than let me touch his penis. He'd _said_ he liked me and he really _seemed_ to like me, but he broke up with me anyway.

Being stuck at home the past three days without Seth and Jake was more depressing than ever, even if I had The Masens to keep me company. I'd neglected things while I'd been hanging out with the two of them. With my dad's drinking and my mom virtually gone, the place was a disaster. There was no food in the refrigerator and I found a stack of bills that indicated we'd be without electricity and phone service sometime in the next few weeks if someone didn't pay up.

After one long night facing that bleak existence, I'd spent the next two nights wandering the beach with my Walkman, letting Edward Cullen tell it to me like it was.

Life sucked.

He knew it.

Friends left.

He sang about being alone.

I was a mess and so was he, except somehow Edward made it seem sexy, when I was very obviously the opposite of sexy. I wondered if maybe, _just maybe_, Edward Cullen would like me if he knew me. I felt I understood him so well, so intuitively; maybe he'd understand me too. Maybe he wouldn't find me repulsive. Maybe he'd let me…

No, I was an idiot. Edward Cullen was practically twice as old as me, and he was a rock star that lived in New York City.

I pretended though, that if we ever spoke, he'd see me for the worthwhile person I was. That's what I was daydreaming about as I shuffled along with the crowd in the narrow, overcrowded hallway between first and second period. I almost jumped out of my skin when I felt someone tapping insistently on my shoulder.

We were packed in there like sardines, so moving anywhere but forward, and hell, even looking over my shoulder wasn't really an option. I'd almost managed to wrench my body around and wriggle against the tide of humanity to see who it was, when the kids just to my right were shoved violently out of the way and into a set of lockers.

"Hey, Bella," Jacob said with an attempt at a smile, like he hadn't just thrown three nerds across the hallway. I shook my head and kept walking.

"I think, maybe, Seth still likes you," Jake added like he was just picking up on an old conversation. I managed to arch a single eyebrow. It was a new trick of mine. I may or may not have picked it up from Kirk Cameron. I'd never admit it if I had.

"As a friend," Jake added. "I think Seth still likes you as a friend."

"That's bullshit, and you know it." I growled under my breath. I tried to pick up the pace to get away from him, but I didn't have the upper body strength or the violent tendencies that Jake had, so I wasn't going anywhere.

"It's not bullshit, Bella. I swear. He really likes you. He misses you."

I snorted. "Yeah, he misses me so much that he's already going out with some girl named Claire from Wading River."

Angela Webber had made sure I was well informed.

"Claire has nothing to do with _you_," Jake argued.

I laughed bitterly. "Get out of here, Jake."

Jake made a show of looking around at all of the bodies penning us in. I just shook my head. He'd already demonstrated how easily he could push his way through the crowd if he really wanted to.

"Listen, Bella, I'm sorry if you got hurt," Jake said in a softer voice, and he gently swept his fingers over my arm. I shook him off, but his kindness was unexpected… as were the sudden tears welling in my eyes.

"_You _didn't do anything," I said with a small, shaky voice. Getting choked up in the hallway at school was dangerous. I could almost hear Angela passing on the information in that faux-concerned whisper of hers, grinning while she made sure that Claire Whoever-She-Was got an earful. I needed to find a bathroom. Quick.

"Are you mad at him?" Jake continued. "He's afraid you're mad at him."

"This is ridiculous, Jake," I hissed, wiping desperately at my eyes. I would not cry. I would not cry. I couldn't believe Seth and Jacob were making me cry in school.

"He broke up with me!" I exploded. "He doesn't like me, he doesn't want me, so why would it matter to him what I think? As long as his new girlfriend's not mad at him, as long as she can make him happy, then I think he's good to fucking go!"

People were staring. Tears were streaming down my face. Jake grabbed me by the shoulder and tugged me around a corner while he shoved people out of the way with his skateboard.

"Leave me alone, Jake!" I protested, struggling to get out of his hold.

He didn't listen. He just gripped my shoulder tighter as he pushed us through a pair of double doors. I blinked through the tears to see computers: big, hulking cream-colored things that whirred loudly, with fuzzy black and white screens. The room was too hot and little more than a closet really, with a mess of wires running along one of the walls. Three AV guys in button-down shirts looked up from their screens and gasped.

"Jacob!" one of them hiccupped.

"Out," he commanded, waving his skateboard like it was a scepter. They left their blinking computer screens without another word, without looking back.

"Computer lab," Jacob explained, finally letting me go.

I rubbed my shoulder. I turned to the blank brick wall and dried my tears. "We have a computer lab?"

"Now we do."

"Huh."

I heard a folding chair being dragged along the linoleum. "Seth does this," Jake said out of nowhere again.

"Does what?" I asked. I turned around to find Jake sprawled out in a chair, using his skateboard as a footrest. He'd positioned another metal chair in front of him and nodded at the empty seat. The warning bell sounded in the hallway. Apparently, I was cutting second period to hang in a computer closet with Jacob Black. I took a deep breath and took a seat, astounded at the absurdity of my situation.

Of course, I had no idea back then just how unlikely and absurd things were about to become in my life.

"Seth does _what_?" I repeated, not sure I wanted to know, but pretty certain Jacob didn't mean that Seth 'did' computer lab.

"Girls. Lots of them."

Well, Seth certainly hadn't _done_ me. Jake was little consolation.

"_We_ can still be friends," Jake tried, pushing the skateboard in my direction. I caught it under my feet and glanced up at him. His features were hard-set, giving nothing away

"_Are_ we friends?" I asked. "I couldn't tell."

He shrugged. "Aren't we?"

I realized that I was being too hard on Jake. After all, he hadn't broken up with me. His best friend had.

"Just because you guys broke up…" Jake's voice faltered, like he couldn't figure out what he was trying to say. "I don't know. He's been all worried. It's weird. I mean… you know Seth. He doesn't really worry a lot."

"I don't know what you're trying to do here, Jake, but I don't want to see Seth. Especially not with some other girl," I protested.

"Yeah, I get that," Jake agreed, and I was startled by the sudden, soft sincerity in his voice. I wondered if there was some girl out there Jake didn't like seeing with another guy. That was probably it. I couldn't remember him going out with anyone over the years. And you know, I'd been watching. I like to think it wasn't as creepy as it sounds.

"What have you been doing with yourself?" Jake asked.

"Going down to the beach at night. Listening to music." I rolled the skateboard back in his direction.

"Sounds cool."

"It's not. I'm the only one there," I said, tugging at the hem of my plaid skirt.

Jake's big, almost black eyes met mine and he reminded me of a puppy dog, albeit a pit bull puppy that might turn and attack at any moment. "You could, I don't know… let me come," he shyly offered.

"What? Why? To the beach?" I sputtered, taken by surprise.

"If Seth wants to hang with Claire, well, we'll let him hang out with Claire," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Why?"

"I like to hear you talk about_ them_." I knew without asking that he meant The Masens. "You say stuff about the songs and it's like stuff I always knew, but you put it into words. That's when I knew Seth got something right, when you talked about _The Hand That Rocks the Cradle_."

I managed to smile a little. Maybe Edward Cullen would never actually get the chance to understand me, but all along Jake had been listening.

"You going tonight?" Jake asked.

"I don't have anywhere else to go," I said with a sullen shrug, but inside I was glad. Happy - almost.

"Me either," Jake replied. "How about eight?"

xXxXx

So, Jake and I started hanging out. We'd walk down the side of the parkway at night wearing our black hoodies pulled tight over our heads, armed with cassette tapes and Walkmen. Jake would bring horrible liquor, like raspberry Schnapps and Wild Irish Rose, and we'd take big gulps and chase it with Coke or grape juice. We'd lay in the sand, letting the salty gusts off the ocean blow over us, and when we got to a particularly good part of a song, we'd line or heads up side by side so that we each could listen to one of the headphone's speakers.

"What do you think?" he'd ask, and I'd tell him, and he'd listen closely. Sometimes I could even get him to smile.

Jake was a lot different than I'd given him credit for. I mean, yeah, he was totally angry… at something that I still hadn't figured out, but he was totally focused, too. He wanted to be a fighter pilot more than anything in the world. Specifically, he wanted to fly the F-14. He had pictures of planes competing with his concert posters on his bedroom walls at home.

Jake was actually the guy behind the computer lab's existence. He'd said something to his guidance counselor, who talked to the PTA, who found sponsors to somehow score funding for it. He figured that fighter pilots needed to know about computer and electronics stuff. One of the computers even had a flight simulator.

He was enlisting as soon as he turned eighteen.

This wasn't completely out of left field, I guess. F-14's were made on Long Island, pretty much right down the street from my house. Everyone's dad worked at the plant, even mine. Charlie Swan played his part in the cold war by sitting in his security car and getting drunk as he made sure Russian spies didn't sneak across the perimeter of the compound. I'm only kind of joking – not about the drunk part. That was totally true.

I am getting off track a bit, though; I'm talking about Jake. It's just that this military dream wasn't exactly the kind of thing I expected from a skater with a mohawk and a pierced nose that paid such close attention to my deconstruction of The Masens lyrics. Sure, he wore combat boots and cut-off camo shorts, but I was also pretty sure that he wore eyeliner at least four days out of the week.

Jake actually laughed when I said as much to him one night on our walk back home from the beach.

"With this haircut, I'm halfway there," he said, running his hand through what little hair he had left on his head.

I suppressed the urge to belt out _Livin' on a Prayer_. Skaters weren't supposed to acknowledge Bon Jovi.

_Whoa, we're halfway there_

_Whoa, livin' on a prayer_

"War, though?" I asked, silently singing the addictive lyrics to myself.

_Take my hand and we'll make it, I swear…_

"Dude, have you seen _Top Gun_?" Jake asked. "That kind of war is the shit. It turns fighting fun."

I shrugged and we walked along in silence as cars whizzed by.

_Johnny used to work on the docks,_

_Union's been on strike, he's down on his luck_

_It's tough_

"So, uh… how are Seth and Claire?" I asked, somehow finding courage in Bon Jovi's lyrics. I knew Jake still hung out with Seth after school when I was at Newman's.

"They broke up," he said with a shrug.

"Yeah?"

"And now he's with some Spanish girl, Carmen, from Bayshore," Jake added.

"Oh." I kicked at the gravel as I walked and dug my hands into my pockets.

Jake shrugged again. "You guys should talk, you know?"

"He broke up with me, Jake."

"He feels bad."

"I don't need his pity."

"He really likes you, Bella. It sucks that we can't all hang out. You know?"

I did know. I missed those afternoons in Seth's garage badly.

"And the show's, like, six days away," Jake added.

I'd been thinking about that a lot, obviously. There was no way I was going to miss seeing The Masens live, but the idea of sitting next to Seth made me feel nauseous.

"He said he'd give up his ticket… if you wanted."

I stopped walking. "What?"

"He said he'd -"

"I know what you said. I mean, really? Was he serious?"

Jacob shrugged. "Yeah. He wanted me to tell you, actually."

To say Seth loved The Masens was a gross understatement. He'd been listening to their music since he was in junior high and he'd been looking forward to this concert for months before we'd even met.

"He really meant it?" I asked in complete disbelief. "He'd give up his ticket?"

"I'm pretty sure," Jake hedged.

"Tell him he should talk to me."

xXxXx

Seth was waiting at my locker the next morning, sitting on the ground with his arms folded over his knees and his head hanging bashfully. My Doc Martens stopped where his Vans ended.

"I'm sorry," he said, eyeing my ankles.

"That's what Jacob said."

"I guess I just know how much of a trip you'll have seeing them. You shouldn't miss the show, Bella."

"Don't be such a drama queen," I snapped.

Seth's head jerked upwards and his eyes met mine. He looked suddenly angry. "Excuse me?" he asked.

By my estimation, he had no right to be angry with me, at all.

"I don't get you, Seth Clearwater, like, not in the slightest. But your desperate need to sleep with everyone in the world, _except me_, doesn't have to get in the way of all three of us going to the show."

"Bella, it's not like -"

"I don't want to talk about it," I said quickly. I wasn't going to listen to Seth explain to my face how completely undesirable I was. "I get it. Just, whatever. We can all go. Okay?"

"I never wanted you to hate me."

I played it cool. "What-_ever_."

"I meant all the things I said, Bella."

"I doubt it," sneered.

Seth slammed his fist into the locker behind him. Yeah, _my_ locker. "Sorry," he mumbled, scrambling to his feet. I stared at the indentation in the orange metal.

"See you Saturday, Seth," I said, pushing past him.

Seth tossed something at me as I brushed by. I looked down to see thirteen hand-painted irises swimming in a sea of green on a piece of folded parchment paper. Inside were the three concert tickets and a message.

Happy birthday a little early.

I'm really sorry about everything.

Go with whoever's going to make you happiest.

Please.

Your choice.

Love, Seth

xXxXx

**July 1989 – Sometimes it's hard to believe how I got here, even when I remember it so clearly.**

"Where are the fates these days?" Edward asked, still holding my hands, worrying his lip, trying to bring me back from wherever my mind had just been.

The questions surprised me. He hadn't been asking as much about me lately, not like he used to, not since the kiss. Those probing questions he used to throw my way, the ones with the power to rupture the dam and let my adolescent feelings flow freely onto the page, they'd dried up so long ago. It occurred to me that I wanted them back. I wanted the questions, and the discourse… and the kissing.

"Jake and Seth?" he tried again, acting almost like he cared. Maybe he cared?

I shrugged. "Jacob's on an aircraft carrier in the Pacific somewhere, I think. And Seth…" I shook my head. At that point I hadn't spoken to Seth for over a year.

"Jacob joined the air force, then? He got his wish?" Edward asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, one of his wishes," I replied with a sigh.

"How many wishes are we supposed to get?" Edward asked. "Maybe one is enough in this lifetime."

"Maybe," I offered, although I wasn't so sure in Jacob's case.

"Do you miss them?" Edward probed, squeezing my hands in his. I was pretty sure he'd just realized that my best friends weren't in my life at all since I'd been staying in his apartment. Edward's green eyes peered into my own. If I let myself, I could get lost in their depths, in the idea that he cared.

"Sometimes I miss them. But, I mean, I have Rose."

"You're not the only one."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Edward simply shook his head. "You were with them that night. The fates."

Of course, I knew which night he was referring to.

"I was."

"You were so wet," he murmured. I committed that sentence to memory to replay again later… in bed.

"So were you," I breathed.

"I was."

"I didn't know it was you… at first," I admitted.

"I didn't know you at all," he replied.

"You do now… Edward."

"Yes, I think I do… Bella."

xXxXx

**June 13****th****, 1987 – The biggest day of my life. I just wish Seth and Jake would act normal.**

June 13th, 1987 was one of those hot, overcast days where the air was heavy and unmoving and charged. We'd been expecting a storm for days, hoping for a break in the heat.

You could have cut through the tension in Jake's cavernous Buick with a knife. The mustard-colored monstrosity was about ten years old, so it didn't have air conditioning or a cassette player. I remember being stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway, sweating bullets, listening to Huey Lewis and the News - _Jacob's Ladder_, to be exact. That song made Jake so angry, and it still makes me uneasy every time I hear it… not like I listen to Huey Lewis and the News all the time, or anything.

Seth rode in the back, ceding the passenger seat to me. Jacob kept his eyes on the road. His floppy hair was plastered to his sweaty cheek and his fingers looked like they were clutching the steering wheel for dear life. My legs stuck to the crushed velvet seats like they'd been glued on. Sweat trickled between my breasts. No one spoke a word.

I didn't know what to say to either of them. Seth and Jacob were obviously angry with one another. I was beyond confused as far as Seth was concerned. No one had ever painted me a birthday card before, I'd never actually told Seth that my birthday was coming up, and I was pretty sure I'd never mentioned that irises were my favorite flower.

Making me that card was such a sweet, boyfriend-ish thing to do, but I knew that he was still going out with Carmen. They said women were supposed to be hard to understand. Apparently, whoever 'they' were, hadn't met Seth Clearwater.

By the time we pulled into the parking lot though, there was no way that the weather or the mood in the car could keep me down. Hundreds of kids were milling around the stadium: running, laughing, and chanting Edward Cullen's name. His face was everywhere, plastered across everyone's chest. Everyone was bursting with excitement; you'd never guess his lyrics were so depressing.

You'd also never know that The Masens celebrated the underdog. You'd think purple hair, nose piercings and combat boots were the societal norm. You'd think everyone in the world wore ripped up jeans and denim jackets with The Masens patches fixed on with safety pins… Or black leather jackets with The Masens lyrics scrawled on them in White Out. You'd think silver was the real gold. You'd think men and women everywhere ringed their eyes with thick black liner.

Here, they did.

Here, Seth and Jake fit in.

Here, maybe I did too.

I jumped out of the car and I couldn't keep the smile off my face. Seth and Jake smiled too. Finally, their mood had lifted, even as the pressure in the air seemed to build.

I handed out the tickets. Surprisingly, Seth held onto my fingers for a little longer than necessary. I caught Jake giving him a funny look. I couldn't care less. I was there to see The Masens. They could give one another all the funny looks they wanted. Hell, I'd hold both of their hands if that made them feel better.

Should I mention that we had awesome seats?

We had awesome seats.

Did we sit for a second? Not on your life. We stood on our seats and clapped and chanted his name as the wind picked up and blew off the bay and swirled around the open-air stadium.

We watched the stage for signs of life. Music blared over the loudspeakers – finally a mix that I could sing along with and love: Love and Rockets, INXS, The Violent Femmes. Lights blinked on the stage. The crowd took it as a sign and cheered. Then the world flashed in green and yellow, followed by a clap of thunder that shook the concrete amphitheater.

People shrieked and laughed. A siren sounded somewhere out in the bay.

The lights on the stage blinked again. Roadies ran around the stage, giving last minute checks to instruments and wires.

The second peel of thunder was deafening, and seconds later the sky opened up, pouring sheets of water down over everyone and everything.

This time, people's screams were as loud as the thunder had been. Everyone ran for cover, but in an amphitheater on the bay, there wasn't much cover to be had.

Seth, Jake and I looked back and forth at one another.

"That's it?" I asked.

Someone ducked and dodged by me and nearly knocked me off my chair. Jake caught me in his arms.

"I don't think they'll go on in this," I nearly sobbed.

"We should wait it out," Seth offered rationally.

So we ran for the car, ticket stubs in hand. The three of us sat on soggy velvet seats frantically scanning the crappy local radio stations for a weather report, peering through foggy windows for a sign that The Masens might go on. We cracked the windows and called out to the kids in other cars. Lightening bars flashed out over the water. After forty-five minutes of what could only be described as a Long Island tsunami, some people started trickling out of the lot.

"Fuck!" Jacob shouted, kicking at the steering wheel.

"Jesus, Jake! Calm down!" Seth ordered.

"Easy for you to say! You've seen them before."

More cars started up and headed for the exit.

"I mean, we might as well wait for a while longer," I suggested. "This isn't so bad."

Seth and Jake looked at me like I was nuts.

"What?" I asked. "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with the two of you tonight?"

Jacob gritted his teeth. Seth flung himself against the back seat. But before either of them could answer, (and I'm not sure either one planned to), a small cheer went up inside the stadium and the sound of an electric guitar cut through the pounding of the rain on the hood of the car.

People began jumping from their cars and ran for the entrance. Seth, Jake and I were only seconds behind.

I spotted him all the way from the back of the stadium. I would have known his tall, lean body anywhere. He was strolling back and forth across the edge of the stage, swinging the mic in front of him. The rest of The Masens were under some sort of protective overhang, but not Edward Cullen.

His Melvins T-shirt was soaked, plastered to his chest. His jeans were heavy with rainwater, hanging precariously on his hips. He stomped in the puddles that were forming in the dips on the concrete stage. He let the people that rushed the stage grab at his ankles.

I ran down the aisle as fast as I could, ignoring the gallons of water that the sky was pouring over my head.

"Remember where to meet!" was the last thing I heard Seth shout. We'd chosen a light pole just outside the main entrance if we became separated. I filed the thought away, though, because:

I.

Was.

There.

I was there with Edward Cullen… and a few thousand others, (but they didn't matter in the least). Edward and I were in the same building, together, kind of.

So many people had already left that the crowd was much smaller. Chairs had been overturned in the rush to take shelter and everyone was clustered around the stage in a small, wet, writhing knot.

Edward stopped and stared into the shrunken audience. I think my heart stopped for a second.

"They say we shouldn't play," he said into the mic.

The crowd booed.

"They say it's supposed to rain for hours."

He looked up at the dark clouds and arched his back and let the rain splatter across his face and splash onto his chest.

"I say fuck them!" he shouted to the sky.

"Fuck them!" the audience yelled back in a chorus. I lost myself in the screaming.

"They brought me a roof," Edward Cullen said into his mic, swiveling around and shaking his head pitifully at his sheltered band members behind him. He turned back to the audience and kicked his combat boot through a particularly large puddle, spraying the front row of kids. "I say, roofs are for pussies!" he yelled, tearing at his shirt so the neckline hung ragged and wet against his soaking chest.

The crowd erupted. Jasper tapped out a beat, and The Masens exploded into a wall of sound.

What can I say about my first Masen's show? Edward was better in person; he shouted and growled and moaned out his heartfelt lyrics. He made eye contact with the audience. He flailed his limbs when he danced in the rain. He seemed to celebrate that we were all there, all hot and wet and messy together.

The band was raw and loud, and the music seemed like it was held together precariously. It went off in a million directions: off key, off tempo, off the fucking wall, but then came together again to create something that made me scream and shout.

The air smelled like left over electricity from the storm, and like pot and cigarette smoke and sweat. Water trickled through my hair and streamed over my eyes so that the stage lights looked like melted crayons shimmering in the dusk.

Through it all, he never stopped. Edward drew us all in. He stood in defiance of everything that made us angry, he proved that it didn't matter, that you could find joy in the pain, and that night, joy in the rain.

And finally, after the last encore, Edward pulled his soaked shirt over his head and threw it into the crowd. People, of course, dove and fought and tore at the thing. But I stood still, like a deer caught in the headlights, shocked by the electric current that Edward's wet, naked chest sent through my body. I'd never felt that way before.

Edward waved to the audience. The copper hair on his head hung over his forehead and water poured down his angular face. His underarm hair was wet too. So was his happy trail.

It may seem silly, but it really felt like the two of us shared a moment, there. At least, I pretended we did.

After the band left the stage and the lights went up, I rushed to our meeting spot, a smile plastered across my face, my wet T-shirt whipping against my body in the warm wind. When I saw Jake, I jumped into his arms.

"Wasn't that -" I started to ask.

"Amazing!" Jake interrupted, wrapping his arms around me and swinging me in a circle. "A-fucking-mazing!"

"I know!" I squeaked, wiggling free from his arms. "That time when he -"

"Dude, look! I got a piece of his shirt!"

Jake held out a jagged square of worn and wet black cotton. I grabbed it from him. "Oh my God, Jake! Oh my god!"

I looked between my friend's overjoyed face and the tiny piece of T-shirt, and then handed it back to him hesitantly, not wanting to let go. A reluctant smile spread over Jake's wet face.

"Fuck it," he mumbled to himself, and he tore the little piece of T-shirt in two. "Here, Bella," he said, holding it out to me.

"Really?" I asked. "_Really_?"

"Really," he replied. "I want you to have a piece. That was just… I don't know. But being there, and being here… with you…"

"I know," I said, rubbing the cotton that had touched Edward Cullen's skin between my fingers.

"I think I love you, Bella."

I froze. My mouth dropped open.

"I think I love you," Jake repeated.

"You love her?"

Jake and I both jumped at the sound of the familiar voice. I spun around to see Seth standing just behind me, wet and angry.

"This is none of your business," Jacob growled.

"The hell it's not, and you know it!" Seth's voice was loud enough that people stopped to watch.

I looked between Seth and Jake, trying to think of something to diffuse the situation, trying to make sense of any of it. "Listen, guys, I think we should just -"

"You're the one that said I should go out with her in the first place!" Jacob yelled, taking a step in Seth's direction.

"Wait. What?" I asked.

"I didn't say you should tell her you love her!" Seth yelled back.

"Wait!" I tried again.

"What if I do?" Jake asked. "What do you care?"

"You?" Seth laughed. "_You_ love Bella? Yeah, right." Seth said it like the idea was absurd.

Indignation flared up inside me, quick and bright. I was instantaneously angry with Seth for pawning me off on his friend and for thinking there was no way Jake might love me. And I was outraged that Jake just hung out with me because Seth told him to.

"That's it! I can't take it any more. I'm out of here," I announced, and I stomped away from both of them.

"Bella, stop!" Jake commanded.

"I don't fucking think so," I shouted back.

"Bella!" Seth called.

I spun around. "You two deserve each other, you know that? Fucking with me. Playing with my emotions like you own me. You don't own me! And you don't get to decide who I should date. I'm not your property! I'll take a train, or a cab, or I'll fucking walk, but there's no way in hell I'm riding home with the two of you!"

I turned around and started to run.

"Jesus, Bella!" I heard Seth exclaim. It sounded like he started to chase after me, but I didn't turn around to look. I did hear a pretty obvious scuffle.

"Get off of me," Jake grunted.

"Did you listen to a thing she said?" Seth growled back.

That's all I heard, though. Pretty soon the noise of the crowd swallowed up their voices. I ducked off to the side of the parking lot and found myself on a broken, uneven piece of blacktop that looked like it might have been an old walkway.

I decided I should stay out of the way for a while, since I was pretty sure Seth and Jake would wait around for me. I couldn't face them at the moment and I definitely couldn't imagine spending another hour in the car with them. So, I bided my time walking between the back of the stadium and the bay.

It was dark on that little sliver of blacktop, with only the buzzing stadium lights to cast the world in shades of gray. Cicadas buzzed and brackish water lapped against the reeds. Mosquitoes took turns landing on my arms. The wind died down and the rain faded to a fine mist. Clouds rushed across the night sky.

Finally, when I thought I was in the clear, the tears came. I didn't know what to think. I didn't understand Seth at all; he liked me, but he didn't, he wanted me to go out with Jake, but he didn't. And suddenly, I felt like I couldn't trust Jake either. Seriously, if Seth told him to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge…

I wandered along until I found the remains of an ancient pier. All that was left of it were a few graying boards jutting out over the water. I carefully picked my way over the wood, found a seat, closed my eyes and listened to the hum of the bugs surrounding me. I took deep breaths of the briny air. I felt my chest rising and falling against my wet T-shirt, and laid down, letting myself relax.

I sighed and let my mind drift to memories of the concert. I pulled the little piece of cotton out of my pocket and brought it to my nose, inhaling deeply. I remember thinking that it smelled like Chaps cologne and sweat. I took another deep breath.

Somewhere in the distance a heavy door slammed shut.

I hummed my favorite song: The Masens' lullaby. I remembered how pained Edward had looked tonight as he sang the lyrics, standing completely still in the rain, pleading with the audience for love. It helped to calm my nerves. It helped steady my heart. I didn't know how important that would be.

Footsteps echoed off the blacktop, coming in my direction.

I guessed either Seth or Jake had found me.

I continued to hum, taking cleansing Edward-scented breaths through the cotton.

Finally, the footsteps stopped. Whoever it was, was standing just behind me. I sighed, disappointed that my alone time was over.

"What do you want now?" I asked without opening my eyes.

"Want? I want to take a seat," came the amused reply. My eyes shot open. He was peering down at me, eyebrows raised, his green eyes lighting the night.

Edward Cullen.

xXxXx

**July 1989, The Piano Bench – Sometimes, when we talk, I find it hard to breathe.**

"What were you thinking when you sat down next to me?" I asked.

Edward suppressed a smile and looked away from me. "That you were far too young for me to admire the way my mouth was draped over your wet nipple."

My mouth dropped open. "What?"

"You were wearing my face on your shirt," he explained to the far wall.

"Oh."

"What were you thinking?" Edward asked.

"I was thinking that I was going to faint," I laughed.

"You didn't, though. Quite the contrary, you were surprisingly articulate and opinionated for a child from Long Island."

"No digs about Long Island," I said, nudging his knee with my own.

Edward shrugged. "It has a reputation, but you defied it." Edward slowly blinked and then looked back at me. "I was enchanted."

"With the island?" I pushed.

Edward narrowed his eyes. "I was enchanted. Enough said."

"I was hyperventilating," I admitted.

"I don't think so. But you _were_ shivering."

"You had Emmett get me a jacket."

"You tried to give it back."

"You let me keep it, though. And then you drove me home."

"Well, Emmett drove. I just went along for the ride."

"It was just like in the song," I said, with a shy smile.

"The song?" he asked, cocking his head to the side in that way I loved. Suddenly I felt embarrassed and small.

"_There is a Light."_ I explained. "Driving in your car, I never, never want to go home…"

"There is a light that never goes out," Edward said, picking up the song and quoting himself back to me.

"Do you believe that?" I asked.

"In some cases."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. My toes tapped nervously against the marble.

"So," Edward began. "Jacob got his wish. He flies fighter jets. And I got my wish… I have you here with me. What about you? What do you wish, Bella?"

"I wish you'd kiss me."

And he did.

xXxXx

**Present Day – My Favorite Place, My Bed**

Through the years, I've gone back to that kiss over and over again.

Edward was so sincere and sweet as he took my face in his hands and pressed his lips against mine, like he was making both of our wishes come true. I felt his chest heaving as his lips parted, and he pressed himself against me, pushing me down against the hard bench. He climbed over me, until I was flat on my back, until his body moved against mine, until his hands knotted in my hair… until his knee slipped and the full weight of his body collapsed on top of me.

The bench toppled over sideways and we fell gracelessly, crashing against the marble, knocking knees and elbows. I laid on the cold floor, tangled in Edward's arms, laughed until my sides hurt. Edward laughed so hard that I could see crinkles and happy tears at the corners of his eyes.

I've clung to the memory of that kiss as I've grappled with the pain, the back-pedaling, the disappointment and the betrayal. It's memories like this that used to make me wonder if I was deluding myself; if any of it really happened like that at all.

It did happen.

Edward sat down next to me on a pier one night, overlooking a swamp. Two years later, he kissed me on a piano bench.

He kissed me. And then we fell down. And I'm still quite certain that what I saw in his eyes when he was laughing may have been love.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks so much for each and every one of your reviews! I love hearing your theories and guesses and memories.**

**I post teasers on facebook. You can find me at: ht tp : / / www . facebook . com/belladonna . cullen2, or on Twitter BellaDCullen (Be warned, I suck at Twitter).**

**Until next week, xxx, M**


	6. Strangeways Here We Come

**A/N: MaryJaneStew rocked my world this week. KikiTheDreamer gave me nearly constant support. Best. Team. Ever.**

**Here's a list of everything I don't own & didn't write: 1. Twilight. 2. _Get Out of My Dreams_ by Billy Ocean. 3. _Women in Love_ by D.H. Lawrence (People think Twific is overly angsty and dramatic with ridiculous lemons - give Lawrence a gander). 4. When I Heard at the Close of Day by Whitman. 5. _I'd Like to Watch You Sleeping_ by Atwood. **

**There's a good chance that I may have written the one or two of the words that connect all these quotes.**

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

We listen to one of The Masens' later albums over breakfast. This album in particular holds a special place in my heart.

"When did you meet him for the first time?" my daughter asks as she crunches on the organic version of Fruit Loops. Milk dribbles over her chin.

"Chew with your mouth closed, Little One," I instruct and she makes a show of pressing her lips together. With her cheeks puffed full of food like a chipmunk, she raises her eyebrows expectantly and cocks her head to the side, waiting for my reply.

"When I was almost seventeen," I say, taking refuge behind my coffee mug. All thoughts of that night still make me blush and tingle, as if it happened only yesterday. I try to keep my cool in my daughter's presence, though.

"He was bigger than you?" she asks after she's swallowed her cereal.

Edward had been much bigger than me, both physically and famously, but I know that's not what my daughter is getting at. "He _was _older," I agree.

"How old?" she asks.

I do the math and shake my head. "You are _never_ allowed to hang out with men twice your age. Do you hear me?" I advise.

"How _old_ was he?" she asks again with the hint of a whine.

"He was thirty-one," I admit.

"Oh. My. Gosh!" she says dramatically.

I shake my head. "I know," I agree.

"Was _he_ your boyfriend, too?" she asks, narrowing those big, brown eyes of hers. She still hasn't gotten over the debacle about Jake and Seth.

"No," I admit with some relief, glad I'm free to tell the truth about this part of the story.

"What was he, then?" she asks.

"He was a rock star."

**June 13****th****, 1987 – Some memories never grow old.**

"_Want? I want to take a seat."_

_My eyes shot open. He was peering down at me, eyebrows raised, his green eyes lighting the night._

_Edward Cullen._

I scrambled to a sitting position, my heart racing. Oddly enough, I couldn't bring myself to look at him… at Edward _freaking_ Cullen. "Oh my god," I muttered.

"I startled you… I'm sorry." His voice was quiet and deep and made me shiver. The toes of his boots were so close to my knees. Of course, his entire body was close to me, just the thought of it made me feel faint.

"No, I mean, yes, you did… I, uh, just, I thought you were my friend."

I quickly tucked the torn piece of T-shirt Edward had thrown to the audience back into my pocket, just in case he might recognize it. Then I took a mental inventory of my appearance. My messy hair was falling out of my ponytail and plastered to my face and neck, my clothing was crumpled and wet, and my make-up was most definitely smeared. I wrapped my arms around myself, like it could hide all of that from the rock star in front of me.

"Should I go?" Edward asked taking a step away from me.

"No!" The idea that he could leave as quickly as he appeared gave me the courage I needed to finally look up at him. Edward's jeans were still soaked, and his hands were sunk deep in his pockets, making the denim strain against his hips. He was wearing a new T-shirt – The Specials this time. It looked a size too small and the thin, damp fabric was stretched across his chest. His hair was messy like it had been toweled dry, and his bright green eyes were regarding me with an intensity that took my breath away.

Edward ducked his head in order to look me in the eye. I shuddered and wrapped my arms tighter. "No?" he asked, sounding almost hopeful. "I shouldn't go? Are you sure?"

"I didn't know you liked ska," I blurted out.

A smile spread over Edward's face and I shuddered again. He didn't smile in magazines or on album covers, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why. Edward was beautiful when he smiled, and I studied him, committing it all to memory: the way one of his front teeth was chipped at the corner, the way the edges of his eyes crinkled, the way those eyes seemed to suddenly glow with light from within.

"Ska?" he asked, and for a moment I was lost. "What makes you think I like ska?"

Oh, right… I'd mentioned ska.

"Your T-shirt," I explained, nodding to the logo his chest, swallowing, scooting backward a little, frightened by his proximity. I clenched my hands into fists, hoping that he didn't notice the way his presence made me shake.

I was safe for the moment, though. Instead of looking at me, Edward was inspecting his chest. He pulled the damp shirt from his skin and held it out so he could get a closer look… allowing me to feast my eyes on abs and springy brown hair peeking out from under the edge of his T-shirt. I swallowed and took a deep breath and pressed my hands against the wooden boards beneath me, searching for something solid to keep me upright.

"That was… amazing," I breathed. I meant the show, of course, but I could have been talking about his bare abdomen.

Edward dropped his shirt and smiled down at me. "Amazing? My ability to read upside down, or the performance tonight?"

I let out a nervous laugh. It was almost like he'd read my mind. God, I hoped he couldn't read my mind.

Edward closed his eyes and shook his head. "I really should leave you to your pier." He turned to go.

"Edward!" I gasped. My hand flew over my mouth. I couldn't believe I'd just called him by his first name, like we were old friends or something. I tried to catch my breath. Edward peered at me from over his shoulder and looked nearly pained.

I dropped my hand and licked my lips. "I wouldn't mind the company," I explained.

Seconds stretched to infinity. Edward bit his lip. My one hand was pressed so firmly against the wood that my arm started to tingle from the loss of circulation. Finally, with a sigh like he was giving in to me and going against his will, Edward turned around, took a few easy steps in my direction and took a seat on the opposite end of the pier. He pulled his knees to his chin and stared out over the water.

"I found this place the last time we played here," he said to the bay.

"It's quiet and dark," I observed and instantly wanted to kick myself. He'd have to be blind and deaf not to see that it was quiet and dark. What a stupid thing to say.

"Last time it was deserted," Edward offered.

"Maybe _I _should go."

"At this point, that would be boring."

I didn't know what to say to that. Edward glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes.

"You're quite wet. You were at the show, then?"

I couldn't contain my shivering. I found it hard to speak. I nodded my head.

"What did you think?" he asked. His voice was sincere, like he really wanted to know, almost like he was worried about my answer.

"I liked the rain."

"Ha!" Edward laughed. "Second fucking fiddle to an act of god."

"No, I…" but I couldn't figure out how to continue, because the fact of the matter was that I liked how he acted in the rain, and how he looked in the rain, but I didn't know how to say that without sounding creepy.

Edward seemed content to let me think it through. I tried looking out over the water like he was doing.

"The rain set the stage, allowing the defiance in your lyrics to shine through. And it helped you to include us, like we were all in it together, not just watching, but participating. Ironically, without the rain, I think the whole thing would have been watered down."

I chanced a look in Edward's direction. He was squinting at me, almost like he was having a hard time seeing across the pier. "Where'd you get that?" he asked.

"Get what?"

"How old are you?" It may have been a question, but coming out of his mouth, it sounded more like a command. I shuddered again.

"Sixteen… Almost seventeen," I squeaked. I was too naïve to try to lie.

"You realize that your favorite part of the show has left you very wet, and apparently very cold."

I didn't have the guts to tell him that I was shaking because of his proximity.

A door slammed, and both of our heads snapped in the direction of the sound. I made out the silhouette of a very large man walking quickly in our direction. Edward sighed.

"You shouldn't be here kid," the large man announced when he was close enough to get a good look at me. The guy managed to say it with a smile and a wink, though, and his relaxed demeanor put me way more at ease than Edward Cullen had.

"It's okay, Emmett," Edward offered. Just three words from Edward's mouth and I started shaking again, and it felt like an electric current vibrated just under the surface of my skin.

"Yeah?" Emmett asked arching an eyebrow, looking between Edward and me.

"She's cold," Edward said.

"She should probably get inside, then," Emmett observed.

"Or you could get her a jacket."

"I'm supposed to be bringing you back in there, Edward."

"I'm not going back."

"But, Aro -"

"Not _fucking_ tonight, Emmett," Edward hissed through clenched teeth.

"And Jas -"

"I'm not his babysitter."

Emmett sighed and gave me another once over. "A jacket?" he asked me.

"Please," Edward growled.

The big guy walked away without another word and returned minutes later with a green canvas bomber jacket that was about twelve sizes too big. He tossed it in my direction and, amazingly, I caught it with one hand. Sometimes I shine when I'm under pressure.

"There you go, kid," Emmett said.

"Thanks," I replied. I wasn't really cold, but if anything, all of that material would mask my nervous shivering.

Emmett turned his back to me and concentrated on Edward. "They're all gonna be out here in a minute when they figure out I found you. Hiding seems pointless."

"We should go then," Edward said very quietly. "I'm in no mood."

"Then I'll get your stuff and get the car. You know where to meet me."

The big guy left without looking back. Edward tapped his foot on the boards, but made no move to get up.

"My real favorite part was that song," I said somewhat desperately, certain our time together was quickly ending.

Edward let out a deep sigh like he'd been holding his breath and then turned his attention on me. "The one you were just -"

"My favorite part is _always_ that song," I added quickly. "Since the very first time I heard it."

"I like your version of it better," he said and his eyes met mine for a second before dipping back down to look at his feet. He rubbed his palms over his shins.

I smiled. My stomach fluttered. I hoped I didn't throw up.

"No," I argued. "It's not just the melody, it's the lyrics. I mean, don't get me wrong, I appreciate the words to all of your songs, but _that_ song… the way it hurts my heart to really listen… those words really mean something, don't they?"

Edward didn't answer.

"It's okay," I continued. "You don't have to say anything… I kind of know those lyrics are real."

When he finally glanced at me, Edward looked alarmed. "That coat looks ridiculous," was all he said.

I started to take it off.

"No!"

I froze, one arm half out of a sleeve.

"But I -"

"But you're _wet_… and cold."

"But you're leaving," I argued.

"You're not?" he asked.

I shrugged. I had no immediate plans to go anywhere.

"You obviously don't live on this pier," he laughed.

"My two friends…" I began, but didn't know how to continue. My real explanation, that my ex-boyfriend broke my heart, then started sleeping with half of Long Island, and then pawned me off to his best friend who suddenly thought he loved me – that explanation sounded childish, even to me. Yeah, I wasn't saying that.

"I don't know." It was all that I could come up with.

"They left you?" Edward asked.

"I left them," I said with a sigh.

"Of course you did," he replied. I could almost feel his eyes searching for mine, but the ridiculousness of my situation left me feeling insecure and I looked at my feet instead. "But you can't stay out here all night," Edward added.

"No. I can… take the train?" I should have sounded more certain. If I could just find the nearest station I'd be fine.

"Where?" he asked. "What train?" It was a good question.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But there's got to be a station around here somewhere."

Headlights swung into view in my periphery.

"Emmett won't like this at all," Edward muttered.

"Like what?" I asked.

"He won't like giving you a ride home."

Edward's chuckle had a menacing edge and maybe I should have felt uneasy, but I didn't. I watched as he stood to his feet and held out his hand to help me up. He was just as tall as I'd imagined, and I had to arch my neck to look up at him. I didn't jump to take his hand, though.

"But, I don't need -" I began.

"Yes, you do. You shouldn't be here alone. You're too -"

"I'm too _what_?" I interrupted. I placed my hands on my hips instead of reaching for him like any sane fan of The Masens might do. I wanted to hear him say out loud that he thought I was too young to take care of myself.

"Your too _wet_," he said, looking me over from head to toe. "You could, I don't know… catch a cold?"

As if on cue, I shuddered.

"You see?" he asked.

"Fine," I allowed. I'd choose leaving a cold and wet impression over admitting I was star-struck any day.

Edward pressed his lips together like he was trying not to laugh as I helped myself up. I readjusted my clinging jeans and pulled Emmett's jacket around my wet top, then I quickly pulled my messy hair out of the ponytail and brushed it from my face. "I can handle myself, you know," I said.

"Somehow, I don't doubt it."

"It's not funny."

"Not at all," he agreed. "Now that that's decided, let's get a move on. Emmett's waiting, and he's right. It's only a matter of time before the rest of them find me."

With one last furtive look over his shoulder, Edward started in the direction of the car. He left quite a bit of room between the two of us, like he was scared he might accidentally push me off the path and into the underbrush that lined the shore. He dug his hands into his pockets and hesitantly kicked at the loose gravel that littered the pavement. Those little kicks were so different from the way he'd attacked the puddles on the stage that suddenly, I had a difficult time reconciling the man that ruled the arena with the man that was walking quietly next to me.

"Where are you headed?" Edward asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"Uh, Mastic Beach."

"Never heard of it."

"I'm not surprised. It's nowhere near the city," I warned. "I'm sure it's in the op-"

"I'm not going anywhere near the city either," he interrupted, nearly guessing my thoughts again. "It's supposed to rain this weekend."

"And you _abhor_ the city in the rain."

Edward turned to peer in my direction. "So, I do."

Oh my god. I quoted Edward Cullen to Edward Cullen. I felt my cheeks blushing and I concentrated on my shoes.

"Nice shoes," he said.

Oh my _freaking_ god. He was watching my every move. I didn't know how I'd make it through the car ride, but at the same time, I desperately wanted to spend more time with him.

"Thanks," I gulped.

"I've always liked oxblood."

"What?" I asked, my head snapping up to meet his amused expression. _Oxes? Blood?_

"The color of your Docs," he laughed.

"Oh, right."

As we approached the limo the lights grew brighter, and Edward and I both had to shield our eyes from the glare.

"Edward?" Emmett asked stoically. I squinted my eyes and was just able to make out the fact that Emmett had his arms folded across his chest.

"Told you," he quietly laughed in my ear as he placed his hand on the small of my back. I stopped in my tracks and worked to breathe at a normal pace. Even through Emmett's thick jacket, I could feel how large Edward's hand was compared to my body, how his fingers stretched nearly from one side of my waist to the other.

"Edward," Emmett said again, obviously unpleased and waiting for some explanation about my presence.

"She needs a ride home, Emmett. To… _Mastic Beach_?" Edward asked, peering down at me.

I nodded and my heart raced, but at the same time I felt inexplicably soothed by the pressure his hand provided and by the sound of his soft voice… the voice that had just pronounced the name of the tiny beach town where I'd lived my entire life. _Wow._

"Do you know where Mastic Beach is, Emmett?"

"I haven't the faintest fucking clue, Edward."

"You have a map in there, yes?" Edward asked, nodding towards the limo.

"I could give directions," I offered in a small voice. I wasn't a moron or a lost puppy. Maybe I didn't have a driver's license, but I knew my way home.

"No, Emmett can read a map. At least that's what I was told."

Emmett rolled his eyes and held the back door open for us without another word.

"After you," Edward said with just a little more pressure on the curve of my back. I fought the urge to stay where I was in order to relish the support his hand was providing. Sanity won out though, and I climbed into the car.

At least, _that _nightI considered my choice to be the sane one. Over the years, though, my thoughts on the matter would change drastically. As a mother I shudder at the prospect of my daughter stepping into a car with tinted windows with a man fifteen years her senior. I have to tell myself that I'm a better parent than my mother was, and that even though my daughter is just six years old, in many ways my she's much less innocent than I was at sixteen.

Whether a stroke of unbelievable luck, or tragic decision, I can see the moment when I climbed into the limousine for what it was: a life-altering choice. So simple: just step into the car and slide along the leather seat, giving Edward Cullen room to slide in beside me. It took less than ten seconds.

In that movement it was like I'd been slipped a penknife and with a slash and a gentle swoosh everything that was keeping me stuck in my little life collapsed in a heap around me. I hadn't been contained by ironclad walls - I'd been living in a delicate bubble. Stepping into that limo, I stepped into a much bigger world, one I never imagined I'd inhabit.

xXxXx

We sat in silence. I was too embarrassed to look at him. I kept my hands folded in my lap and watched the short, scraggly trees flash by on the Parkway. Edward's foot tapped to a rhythm I didn't recognize.

Try as I might, I couldn't imagine Edward Cullen driving through my town. The most fame Mastic Beach had ever seen was Jimmy the Superfly Snuka. His girlfriend's mom lived two streets down from my house. Neighbors had spotted a Camaro with a license plate reading "WWFORDIE" on at least three occasions. He was the local hero.

"This has got to be so out of the way for you," I apologized.

"Not entirely," Edward said.

"Yeah?" I asked, sneaking a glance out of the corner of my eye.

"I'm headed for the east end - some off the beaten trail outpost on the shore."

"The beach?" I asked, suddenly rapt. He hated the city in the rain… he preferred the beach on overcast days. These were Edward Cullen basics. "Because it's rainy?"

"Of course," he replied, "And in the morning I'll wake to a breakfast of dry toast with tea as I open the New York Times directly to the Arts & Leisure section."

I pursed my lips. He'd offered a ride to a girl wearing a Masens T-shirt. He must have assumed I knew the silly details they printed in the magazines and unauthorized biographies. He'd asked for it.

"You know what I haven't heard about you before, though?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

"What's that?" he asked dispassionately. He was looking away from me, replying to my reflection in the tinted windowpane.

"I haven't read a thing about your tendency to give random rides to strange girls."

Edward chuckled despite himself. "You're not strange."

"You don't know whether I'm strange or not."

"That's not the word I'd choose."

"So, are you trying to say you have a habit of giving random rides to regular girls? Because that would be breaking news."

Edward Cullen went out of his way to keep his relationship status from the tabloid press. That was a feat that was entirely possible in 1987. Back then the tabloids were more likely to accuse you of spawning alien children on Mars than actually ferreting out who you'd chosen to spend the night with. Not to mention that they ignored obscure rock stars like Edward Cullen completely.

Edward knew what I was getting at and my words finally enticed him to look in my direction. I felt my cheeks blushing and I squirmed farther away from him on the smooth leather seat.

"The rides - they're never random, but nearly always strange. Tonight's an exception."

We watched one another. God, he was good-looking.

"You don't know me," I insisted in a small voice.

"That's unfortunately true." Edward glanced at my chest. I realized that I'd relaxed my hold on Emmett's jacket and my Masens T-shirt was showing. Edward was looking his own image in the eye. "I bet you know everything about me, though," he added, almost like he was talking to the Edward on my shirt.

I shook my head and pulled the jacket closed. "Maybe we should just drive."

"Why?"

"I don't know if you really want to hear me talk, or if you just think I'm, I don't know, funny."

"You're not funny. _I'm_ fucking funny."

I didn't know what he was talking about; he wasn't even close to funny. I looked out my window again. Edward sighed and I watched his reflection rake a hand through his messy hair.

"I know everything," I said. "I've read everything, but it doesn't even touch how you're acting tonight. So, it's like I just know, I don't know, your statistics. But that's it."

"Birth date?" he asked without missing a beat.

"June 21st, 1956."

"Favorite food?"

"That's too easy, you already said it: dry toast."

Edward laughed, and after giving a little thought to the idea of feasting on dry toast, I joined in too.

"Dry toast?" I asked. "No one questioned that? Okay, maybe you _are _funny."

Edward's laughter died down and he smiled at me. I felt rewarded.

"Hometown?" he asked. He bit his bottom lip. His eyes sparkled.

"Please, give me some credit. New York City, Upper West Side. You went to the High School of the Performing Arts until you dropped out at sixteen."

"Very thorough. Favorite pastime?"

"Reading… mostly the romantics."

Edward scowled, but didn't disagree. "Best friend?" he asked.

"Jasper Whitlock, of course."

"On a technicality," Edward answered in a quieter voice. "What else?"

"There's no point... I'd get them all right. I hope that doesn't creep you out," I added, sensing the sudden change in his mood.

"It takes a lot to creep me out, uh… um, I just realized that I don't know your name."

"Bella. Bella Swan."

"Bella Swan," he said, like he was testing it out. "You don't creep me out. I'm glad I could get you off that pier."

"And into your car?" I asked and groaned out loud. I'd inadvertently channeled Billy Ocean and made it sound like I thought he was some child predator, all at the same time. I was pretty sure Edward wasn't a predator, but I was much less certain about whether or not I wanted to be his prey, and honestly, I only had a foggy idea about what that all meant.

"No. I should have given you the car and left with the rest of them," Edward mumbled.

"I'm glad you didn't. I'm sorry."

"_You're _sorry?" he asked. "Please, I'm in a mood. It's been a crappy night. I wanted you here. I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.

"No, thanks. I'm happy not to talk about it for once."

"I go to the beach too, when I feel like crap."

"Does it help?" he asked, looking out the window again.

I wasn't sure how to answer. Edward helped, or at least his music did. It made me feel like I wasn't alone and it took me out of myself, all at the same time.

"What's your favorite music to listen to?" I asked.

"I'm sure you know my top five."

"Don't give me a statistic, Edward, give me the truth. What's something that, I don't know, you feel like they knew you when they wrote it, even though it was impossible."

I saw Edward raise his eyebrows through the reflection in the window. "Stravinsky."

Okay, that was unexpected. I'd have to go looking for a Stravinsky cassette at Record World in the morning.

"Stravinsky will help at the beach, then," I advised, not letting on that I hadn't a clue who Stravinsky was. "Seriously, I think you should go out to the beach with a Walkman at night when no one's there. Turn that shit up really loud and think about how no one except me knows it's Stravinsky. If anyone sees you, they'll think you're listening to Patti Smith, or The Clash, or The Slits, or The Buzzcocks. But, really, it'll be like a private conversation between you and Stravinsky. I think that the understanding that comes with music, just you and the other person on the other end of that Walkman, in a different time in history even, but still connecting… that helps. You're alone, but you're not, all at the same time."

I was so caught up in what I was trying to explain that I didn't notice that Edward was staring at me. He'd shifted a little closer. His lips were just slightly parted.

"I get carried away," I explained apologetically, rubbing my hands on the seats.

"I don't mind. And, uh, I appreciate the advice. I'll send Emmett for some Stravinsky on cassette tape when we get to Sagaponack. That should be a reward in and of itself."

"I'd tell him to try the Riverhead Mall," I offered.

"I was wrong. You are funny," he chuckled.

"You give Emmett a hard time?" I asked, looking toward the tinted divider.

"It's mutual. Believe me."

I grinned at Edward, finally feeling comfortable - if comfort included a vibrating electric current running through every limb of your body, headed straight for your core. Maybe comfortable was the wrong word. It all seemed, well, _right_ for a second or two there. It had been so long since anything in my life had felt right.

I leaned back against the cushioned seats and smiled at Edward. I wasn't scared to look at him anymore, and, well, that wasn't a bad thing at all.

"You look too pale to spend much time on the beach," he said.

"Well, no, I…" I stopped myself, though.

Smith's Point Beach in the sunshine meant Aqua Net fumes and fluorescent, bedazzled bikinis and boom boxes blasting Cinderella. I wasn't sure when my aversion to all of that really began. Maybe I stayed away from the beach in the sunshine because I knew Edward preferred when the weather was overcast. Maybe I was just a bad copy of the man next to me.

"You were saying, _Bella_?" I sighed at the sound of my name coming from his lips and felt compelled to answer.

"I don't go when it's sunny," I admitted hesitantly.

Edward smiled. "Me neither."

"That part's true?" I asked.

He chuckled again. "You really shouldn't accept rides from strange men, Bella Swan."

"You're not just any man_, _Edward Cullen." I felt instantly self-conscious. I don't think I'd ever called anyone with a penis a man to their face before. They'd all been boys.

"But I am, Bella. You just got lucky this time."

"I know," I agreed.

"Tell me the truth. What did you think of the show tonight? I think I can trust that you'll be honest."

"I thought it was… amazing. You were… great."

"The performance?"

"Yeah, the performance," I agreed, before the real meaning of the word performance struck me. It was all an act. I thought about the show I'd seen a little differently and re-considered my statement.

"You seemed separate from the rest of… The Masens. You, I don't know… there was a space, and I think I heard that in the music, but you guys are totally awesome and you brought it together over and over… it all kind of went along with the rain, so I didn't think anything of it until now, but it was different from other shows I've seen videos of."

"Our discord went along with your favorite part… the rain," he chuckled.

"Don't take the rain personally. Some things, like tsunamis, might just be bigger than The Masens," I laughed.

"Bigger than The Masens? Blasphemy! You've lost your rights to that shirt. Take it off."

I jumped and clutched at the armrest behind me.

"That's not what I meant," he backpedaled.

"Oh."

"Please keep your shirt on."

"Okay."

"This is where I should stop speaking."

"You don't have to."

"But I should."

Edward pressed a button, lowering the divider between the backseat and the driver's compartment.

"Edward?" Emmett asked.

"Where are we on the road to Mastic Beach?"

"We're just pulling off the Expressway now. Is this the exit, Miss?" Emmett asked.

"Bella," I offered.

"Fine. Miss Bella," he laughed. "Is this the exit?"

"Yes, Mr. Emmett," I giggled back.

"For fuck's sake," Edward mumbled.

"Where to from here, _Miss_ Bella?" Emmett asked, chuckling and looking directly at Edward through the rearview mirror.

"Turn south on the Parkway. I'm just before the beach, on the left, Robinwood Drive."

"Gottcha," Emmett said. The divider started to rise, but Edward pressed the button again and it stalled midway. "Something else, Edward?" Emmett asked looking between Edward and me in the rearview mirror.

"You'll need Bella's house number."

I was focused on Emmett, but once again, I could feel the force of Edward's gaze on my body. It was almost like he could touch me with his eyes. Throughout the entire time we'd spent together he'd been so observant. He'd not only seen me, but from time to time it was like he was looking right into my head. That's when I panicked… The sleek town car, the chauffer, the rock star, _THE _rock star… it didn't match up with my falling apart home and passed out father. There were still deep ruts in the lawn, for god's sake.

I didn't want Edward Cullen seeing my house.

"It's last house on the right," I instructed Emmett, lying through my teeth. The Tanner's was the biggest house on the block. They had an intact lawn.

"This is it?" Edward asked as we pulled up to a neat split-level home with sculpted evergreen bushes lining the drive and a little rainbow pinwheel stuck next to the barn house-shaped mailbox.

"Yep," I said. "This is my house."

Edward looked between me and the Tanner's place. "Well, okay, I guess."

"Yep," I repeated.

"You're here."

"Home sweet home."

"Your house. Your _parents'_ house."

"Right. My parents. They'll be waiting up."

"Should I?" he asked, pointing between himself and the Tanner's house.

"No! No, no, no… _No_." I shook my head.

Edward sighed with relief. "Good. That's good."

Suddenly, my door was opened and I nearly toppled out onto the pavement.

"Miss Bella?" Emmett laughed, catching me in his hands.

I glanced up at his big, friendly face, and then at the Tanner's dark house, at my dingy, boring street.

"Good night, Bella," Edward said.

Back inside the limo there were buttery leather seats and little glittering lights at our feet. There were _his_ feet, clad in black boots. I let my eyes travel slowly up his long body to his face. Oh yes, I wanted to stay. It took an amazing amount of effort not to throw myself at him, but I didn't. Instead, I offered him my hand.

"Good night, Mr. Cullen. Thanks for the ride."

xXxXx

I remember that Edward laughed a little, but took my hand anyway.

I remember how large his hand was, how it completely swallowed mine up, and how warm he felt, and strong, and how he added his other hand to the shake, and told me he was glad to meet me. I laughed at that, because the sentiment was entirely backwards.

Then Emmett tugged on my elbow a little. "Come on, Chuckles," he said.

"The Riverhead Mall's at the end of the expressway. You can't miss it," I told Emmett and Edward Cullen laughed out loud. The sound sent chills down my spine – good chills.

I took one last look at Edward and then I let Emmett help me up. Normally I wouldn't need the helping hand, but my legs seemed surprisingly weak and useless. The ground seemed soft beneath me, and I had a hard time finding my footing. I was even a little lightheaded, like I'd been holding my breath for the entire ride.

I walked slowly up the flagstone path to the Tanner's. Emmett kept his eyes on me as he made his way back to the driver's side of the limo, kind of like he knew something was up with my story. I smiled and waved, and then concentrated on my feet as I shuffled towards the front door.

The Tanners were on vacation, so I didn't have to worry about them coming outside and ruining everything for me, but it's not like I had a key to their house, either.

Luckily, the car pulled away before I reached the front door. My heart bottomed out as I turned around to watch the limo disappearing down the road. I don't know what I expected to see: Edward hanging out of his window and waving, tossing me free concert T's, or maybe throwing open his door and jogging towards me with open arms… but none of it happened, and I collapsed on the Tanner's front steps.

My butt hit the hard ground. There were no more clouds to walk on, no more rock stars to chat with, no more bright green eyes and long, wet limbs in my life. There were no more large hands holding mine. I sat there and tried to commit it all to memory and then I pulled myself together and rushed down the street. I needed to write all of it down before I could forget anything. I needed to record everything; from the moment I'd heard his footsteps behind the arena to the last glimpse I had of him - ducking his head so he could watch me leave the limo. I needed to write. Immediately.

I ran faster than I ever did for the yearly physical fitness exam at school. I felt like I was losing more detail with every footfall. I didn't want to forget the way he pulled at his hair when he combed through it with his hands, or the way his chest shook even before you heard him laugh, or the way he sometimes tried to hide his smile with his hand, and the way it made me feel when he said my name.

Edward Cullen said my name! It gave me energy to run faster and I flew down the street, raced across my lawn, leapt over the mini van's tire tracks and nearly fell over Seth as I tried to jump up the steps to my front door.

"Bella!" Seth said, catching me.

I stumbled backwards.

"Who's coat is that?" he asked.

"What?"

Seth nodded at my chest. "That big ass coat you're wearing."

I'd completely forgotten about Emmett's jacket. Seth looked at me expectantly, eyebrows raised.

"I don't think I want to talk to you yet," I replied. I wanted to write. I wanted to lay in my bed with my notebook. I wanted to rub that little piece of Edward's T-shirt against my cheek. I wanted to strip naked and wrap myself in Emmett's jacket and relive every moment since I'd walked away from Seth and Jacob earlier in the night.

"I need to talk to you, Bella."

I groaned. "Seth, I -"

"_I _need you to listen, for, like, a minute."

"A minute?" I asked skeptically, tapping my foot.

"Maybe like four or five."

"Fine," I huffed and took a seat next to Seth on the step. I felt the difference immediately. Sitting next to him felt familiar, maybe like it would feel if he were my brother, nothing like sharing a pier and a limo with Edward Cullen. Of course, Seth was Seth; he wasn't a rock star. He wasn't as tall or lean or beautiful as Edward… his eyes didn't seem to have their own inner light.

"I want you to be happy, Bella," Seth began

"_You're_ not even happy these days, Seth."

"Not really," he admitted.

"What about Carmen?" I asked.

"Don't even start, Bella. What I do, I don't know… I guess it's wrong and I never should have gotten you involved in it."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I don't like being a dick, Bella," he sulked, banging at the step with the heel of his sneaker.

"Jesus, then don't be."

"I'm… well, scared not to be," he admitted.

"You're not making sense, Seth."

A car sped down the street and screeched to a halt at the stop sign. We waited for it to turn onto the Parkway.

"Would you please be my friend, Bella?" he asked in a plaintive voice. "I don't want to lose you as a friend. I could use at least one."

"Jake's still angry, then?" I asked.

"When is Jake _not_ angry?"

"When he's with me, sometimes."

"I noticed," Seth laughed bitterly.

"Even so, I'm not yours to loan out to friends."

"After you and I broke up I was worried about you, and you wouldn't talk to me, so I sent Jake. And then when you guys were hanging out all the time… I don't know, I thought maybe he should try, at least."

"I'm perfectly loveable, Seth. It's not crazy for Jake to say he loves me. Just for you it is, I guess."

Seth looked up from the ground and into my eyes and I was surprised at the pain and longing I saw there. I didn't understand, and I was too sidetracked by Edward Cullen to care enough to even try to figure it out.

Since then, Seth's admitted to me that on that night he wasn't ready to understand either.

"I would love you, Bella. I know I would. And if Jake does, it's better than I thought. Can we be friends, please?"

"Of course," I sighed and wrapped my arms around him without thinking twice. Seth hugged me back, and in his arms, I felt safe. I relaxed and rested my head on his shoulder. I'd missed him so much more than I'd wanted to admit.

"Now where'd you get this coat?" he asked, pulling back to look me over. "Jake's going to be jealous if he finds out you've been hanging out with strange guys."

"Seth?"

"Yeah?"

"I got a ride home… in a limo."

"A limo?"

"Yeah," I admitted, blushing and biting my lip.

"I get the feeling there's more to the story."

"I met _him, _Seth. It was _his_ limo. _He_ was in it."

Seth understood immediately.

xXxXx

At first Seth didn't believe me, but really, who would? With some details, though, and after refusing over and over to deny it, even when tickle-tortured, and after going through Emmett's pockets and finding a card for _McCarty Personal Security Services_, then Seth was finally convinced.

He asked me to start from the very beginning, and I was more than happy to tell the story out loud for an appreciative audience. We went inside, not even bothering to sneak past my dad. He was dead to the world, snoring in his plaid recliner. We picked up some Wild Turkey on the way to my room and stayed up for hours taking swigs and replaying my night in excruciating detail.

"He liked you," Seth said after I told him about the Stravinsky thing for the second time.

"No, he was just being nice." I took a chug of the awful liquor and chased it with some Hawaiian Punch.

"He doesn't sound exactly _nice_," Seth countered. "He sounds like he liked you."

"You're retarded, Seth. Edward Cullen didn't_ like_ me. He gave me a ride."

"He told you to take off your shirt."

"He didn't mean it like that."

"Didn't he?" Seth asked, climbing unsteadily off the bed. He stood up straight and puffed out his chest, holding up the liquor bottle like he was brandishing a sword. "Blasphemy, Bella Swan! Now, take off your shirt!" he commanded, pointing the bottle down at me like he was Zeus.

I grabbed the hem of my T-shirt, pretending that I just might follow his order, but then froze, giggling. "Nope, nope, nope… Edward was a little quieter about it," I laughed. "Try again."

Seth lowered his lids and bit his lip. "Blasphemy, baby. Take off your shirt," he rasped with a cocky grin, a wink and a sexy nod of his head.

I pulled the T-shirt a little higher that time around, but shook my head, dropped the hem and took the bottle from him so I could get another swig.

"That was closer, but you have to laugh a little too, and then act shocked that you said it in the first place," I instructed.

Seth looked instantly nervous. He was good. I wondered if he'd considered a career in acting.

"Blasphemy, Bella. Take off your shirt for me," he said with an uncertain laugh. He got it right. And before I could think better of it, my T-shirt was tossed across the room.

"Bella!" Seth took a step backwards, holding his hands up in front of him.

"Give it a try?" I asked.

"I don't think you even like me that way."

He was right. I understood that now. I liked Edward Cullen that way, but I had to face facts; that wasn't real.

"Just try it, Seth. We'll just see how it goes," I said as I scrambled off of the bed. I had a tiny room and it took about a step and a half to make my way to him, to kiss him gently on the lips.

He went rigid at first, like always, but as I rubbed my hands over his shoulders and wrapped my arms around him, his body eased under my touch. He held my hips and our kisses grew slowly, steadily, until he kissed my jaw and my ear and he ran his fingers through my knotted hair.

I walked backward to the bed and pulled him down with me. We laid on our sides, and Seth kept some space between the two of us, but he was willing to kiss, and caress, and brush his fingers over the satin covering my breasts, making me whimper, making me want to die, making me want more. I didn't push, though. I needed the closeness, and Seth was like home. Sometime before dawn, we fell asleep tangled around one another like puppies.

That was the first time Seth and I slept in the same bed together. It wouldn't be the last time, but it would mark the end of my hopes that we could be anything but friends. It marked the beginning of a new understanding about sex and love and intimacy. What Seth and I shared that night wasn't desperate passion or burning desire, it was two friends fumbling and finding peace with one another while our lives spun out of control.

Some people might say it was wrong to use each other like that, but I can't believe it. That night was a precursor, a beginning, the first milepost in my journey, or maybe the first notch in my bedpost.

In the morning, Seth kissed me on the nose and hopped out of my window. My dad was hung over, just like he was every morning, and he didn't have a clue. Seth's parents were more aware of their youngest child's comings and goings, though. It was the last straw as far as they were concerned. After that he was no longer welcome, even in their garage.

xXxXx

**Present Day – Home Office**

I stare at a blank screen and my fingers sit lifeless on the keys. I dropped my daughter at school hours ago, but I've been utterly unproductive ever since. This prolonged trip down memory lane has left me impotent.

I think about calling Seth, but with one glance at the clock I know that he's teaching – his Whitman survey. It's legendary. The love Seth has for the poet and his poetry shines through when he lectures.

I know firsthand. I've sat in on his class and his enthusiasm and the way he was able to ferret out subtleties in the text gave me chills the entire time.

Of course, I probably had chills for other reasons as well. Seth's not the only man in my life that loved Whitman.

xXxXx

**August 1989 – Edward was the first man I ever met that found literature sexy. Honestly, I'm quite certain that everyone else only said that to get me into bed.**

I remember lying on the long leather couch in the library with discarded books all around us. We'd spend entire afternoons eating grapes and picking our favorite quotes to read to one another. I was young and most of the books I'd choose could be found on the Signet Classics list. Edward preferred manly literature: _Catch 22_, _God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater_, Faulkner, Steinbeck, and countless confusing passages by DeLillo.

We took breaks to kiss… long, languorous breaks. Edward seemed to find particular joy in taking things slow. Who was I to argue? It's not like I wasn't used to that pace, although I have to admit that sometimes I had the silly desire to pull out my old Masens T-shirt, pour water over my chest and lie around waiting for him to find me.

This particular afternoon I was dry though - my shirt was, at least. I was draped over him as we kissed. His large hands would run up my rib cage, over my breasts, and he'd palm them over my shirt as I tried to find friction against him, looking for something to help ease the way I was aching – a toehold, or a clit-hold, if you will.

Edward broke the kiss, panting.

"I have one," he said, with a triumphant smile. If he was talking about a penis, I was well aware by that point. I could feel it pressing against my hip.

"One what?" I asked wiggling against him.

Edward untangled our limbs and sat up, reaching for something on a shelf over my head. I let out a frustrated, happy sigh, because despite the achingly slow pace at which we were moving, I was content. And, these days, I was quite certain Edward was too.

"No, no," I said, scrambling to my knees. "My turn. I have one."

Edward raised an eyebrow as I pulled _Women in Love_ off the shelf.

"Lawrence?" he asked. "A favorite of yours. Really?"

I flipped through the novel nervously. My voice waivered at first.

"_And she was drawn to him strangely, as in a spell. Kneeling on the hearth-rug before him, she put her arms around his loins, and put her face against his thighs."_

"Bella?"

"Wait, wait," I giggled, adding more inflection to my voice as I grew bolder, letting my hand rest on Edward's thigh.

"_Her face was now one dazzle of released, golden light, as she looked up at him and laid her hands full on his thighs."_

"Bella," Edward laughed, pulling the book from my hands. He grinned mischievously. "Are you trying to seduce me with a nineteenth century blowjob?"

"I knew it was a blowjob!"

"You weren't sure?" he laughed, throwing the book on the floor and pushing me onto my back.

"Well, I thought it was, but then my A.P. English teacher denied it."

Edward looked dumbfounded as he peered down at me and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear.

"What?" I asked. "I've never _read_ about a blowjob before. Especially not an old-fashioned one."

A look I couldn't fathom settled on his face.

"What?" I asked again, wrapping my arms around him.

"I don't want to degrade you, Bella."

"Degrade me? You hardly touch me."

"Sometimes I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here."

"You're reading. And kissing. And touching… _me_. And having a good time. I'm sure of it."

"A good time?" he asked, almost accusingly.

"Aren't you?"

His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he climbed up onto his knees in order to pull an ancient hardcover off one of the higher shelves. Edward leafed quickly though the pages, still on his knees on the couch. I settled in to gaze up at him and listen.

"_When I heard at the close of day how my name had been receiv'ed with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that follow'd;_

_And else, when I carouse'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd, still I was not happy;"_

This time around, Edward didn't just read a line or two; he read the poem in its entirety, losing himself in the meter as one hand lightly caressed my knee.

"…_I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands, as directed to me, whispering to congratulate me,_

_For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night_

_In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face was inclined toward me,_

_And his arm lay lightly around my breast – and that night I was happy."_

His eyes fell from the page and found mine.

"_The hissing rustle of liquid sands_," he repeated.

"Whitman. That's really beautiful," I offered.

"It's similar to muddy waters lapping against well-worn piers."

"Kind of," I allowed. I sat up, bringing my face to the same level as Edward's hips. I grabbed a belt loop.

"He's more than having a good time," he said running his free hand through my hair.

"I haven't slept with you, though," I argued.

"Semantics," he mumbled, placing the book on the couch, tugging gently at my hair.

I used his hips to pull myself up and pressed my lips against his abs, through his shirt, feeling his half-hard erection somewhere near my neck. Sliding his shirt upward, my lips finally met bare skin. I left soft kisses as I pushed the shirt higher, kissing, pushing, making my way to his chest, and pulling his shirt over and up as I climbed to my knees.

Finally, thankfully, Edward got the hint and my shirt came off too. And finally, years too late, I had that real topless make-out session that came with chills, and feverish groping, and lips and love. Yes, I was completely in love.

His hands palmed my breasts over my lace bra, his lips at my throat, and then, very slowly his mouth met his hands as he pulled bra straps slowly off my shoulders one at a time, still not exposing my breasts, teasing, with his fingers, then with wet lips, until the lace and satin stuck to my skin, until my breasts ached and my stomach twisted.

We fell back on the couch and my head swam with the feel of his skin against mine. Finally he pulled me on top of him and one bra cup slipped, exposing my breast. His fingers gently traced over softness. I stayed still. I closed my eyes. I felt his chest rise and fall under my hands. His fingers paused at my nipple, but I felt his touch between my legs.

"_I'd like to watch you sleeping_," I murmured and I moved against him, guided by the aching electricity his touch brought out. "_Which may not happen."_

"_I'd like to watch you_," came his strained, breathless reply.

My eyes shot open and Edward was staring up at me, green eyes glowing

"_Sleeping_," I said, finishing the line. Did he know Atwood?

He paused. The flicker of a smile sat on his lips.

"_I would like to sleep with you. To enter…" _he began,but instead of finishing, his voice trailed off and his eyes darkened and he grasped my hips, holding my body against his.

"You know Atwood," was all I could think to say.

"You're smarter than your years," he rasped and reached up to wrap his hand behind my head and pull my mouth to his, pressing my hips against his as we kissed, as we moved together, topless, books dropping to the ground around us.

**Present Day – Home Office**

I give up at the computer. The screen is still blank, and now I'm bothered and tense and I want to take to my bedroom and rifle through the nightstand and lose myself until I have to pick up my daughter from school.

I decide that it's a wise idea, but first, I walk across the room to the shelves encased by glass. It's there, at eye level: the big, green first edition of _Leaves of Grass_. It came by registered mail sometime in the mid nineties.

He was very smart. He knew I wouldn't destroy a first edition. He knew I wouldn't send it back.

I've had it ever since.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Gah! What can I say? Thanks for the reviews. Thanks for the endless discussions on facebook. Thanks for the Tweets (even the cheat Tweets). Thanks to Edmazing for writing an Edmazing review of TiaL for The Lemonade Stand. **

**All of my readers are making this a trip. Your memories & guesses and questions keep me on my toes and keep me motivated.**

**There have been some teaser wars on facebook. Random teasers, dropped like little bombs. Teaser-offs & and teaser-on's. Fiction Freak95 may or may not be involved: ht tp : / / www . facebook . com/belladonna . cullen2**

**Until next week, xxx, M**


	7. Barbarism Begins at Home

**A/N: Aside from the obvious musical inspiration for this chapter, I've had the Acoustic version of Back to the Old House from The John Peel sessions on repeat... You can find it here: ht tp : / / www . youtube . com/watch?v=PIMkHnT2BB4**

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day – Waiting outside my daughter's school.<strong>

One might think that with the progressive, liberal attitude that pervades the city of San Francisco, my daughter's classmates would represent a rainbow of humanity and would come from a wide variety of family makes and models. But no, they're from overwhelmingly Caucasian, two-parent households with either a dog or a cat, and a plot at the local community garden.

This hasn't fazed my daughter yet. She is so loved that perhaps it never will.

"Mommy!" she calls, running to me with outstretched arms, her pink princess backpack bobbling on her back. Her penchant for pink and lace always make Rose and Seth laugh. I have to remind them that I didn't emerge from the womb wearing black nail polish with half a head of shaved hair.

I kneel down so I'm at eye level with my little girl.

"Did you have a good day, honey?"

"It was just okay," she grumbles. "I got in trouble for reading out loud during quiet time, and I didn't want to do my math, but Ms. Miller said I had to."

She gets in trouble at school often. This is so different from me when I was a child that it's almost alarming. I was quiet, unobtrusive, and able to slip in and out of school without being noticed; and I still pulled straight A's. Despite my daughter's shaky academic start and lack of attention span, she's outgoing and smart and I'm old enough to know that even if these infractions make their way to her permanent record, they won't hinder her in life.

"Did you finish the math?" I ask.

"Ms. Miller says I have to do it for homework."

"Then let's get you home, Little One. We can both do our work at the same time."

"I don't want to do our work, Mommy. I want to hear more of the story. More of The Masens story."

This pleases me to no end, and I find myself smiling and walking with a spring in my step as I take her hand to cross the street. I bask in the slanting winter sunshine.

"You like the story, then?"

She nods enthusiastically. "I like it a lot, and I need to know what happened, really bad!"

"We left off where he dropped me at my house," I remind us both.

"Not at_ your_ house," she corrects.

"Right, at the neighbors'."

"Because you were embarrassed."

"I was," I admit.

"Did he come back?"

"Never," I sigh.

She climbs into the backseat of the car and clicks herself in. When I was her age I used to climb into the back of the neighbor's pick-up and we'd bump around so much that we'd get black and blue. These days my petite daughter will probably be in a booster seat until she's twelve.

"Did he send you an email?" she asks.

"We didn't have email, Little One. We didn't even have computers at home."

"Huh. Weird. A text then," she decides with an affirmative nod of her head.

"No texts either. Our phones were just for talking."

"_Really_?"

"Yep. And they were stuck to the walls of our houses, connected by cords."

"Well, that's just… _weird_."

Weird is her new favorite adjective. She's been using it in every possible context for three solid days. I have no smart reply to her weird observation, though. I'm too busy debating whether or not to tell her that I didn't have phone service at all that last year I lived at home. It was hard enough to keep the lights on.

"So, what did he _do_, Mommy? I need to know!" she prompts.

"Back then, Little One, when you wanted to talk to someone, sometimes you wrote a letter."

**June 19, 1987 – I'm starting to think that birthdays get a little more confusing with each passing year.**

I woke up to the sound of pots clattering and dishes crashing in the kitchen and I pried my eyes open and squinted at the alarm clock. It was six-fifteen. Seth was still fast asleep, lying next to me snoring.

He'd been sleeping at my house ever since his parents kicked him out a week ago. Jake's place would have been the obvious choice, but Jake had a normal family that would have questioned the presence of a new child under their roof. So did Seth's girlfriend, Carmen. With a missing mom and a drunken father, my house was the obvious place for him to crash.

The fact that I virtually lived alone also made the sounds I was hearing in the kitchen all the more alarming. There was no way my dad was up and active at six-fifteen.

"Seth!" I hissed, shaking him.

He grumbled something and rolled over. My heart leapt into my throat as I heard footsteps padding down the little hallway and stopping at my door. I shook Seth violently while I grabbed for whatever I could find to try to defend myself. I came up with a curling iron and a Walkman. I was primed for attack when I heard light tapping on my door.

"Hello?" I asked, baffled that an intruder would knock.

Seth stirred next to me, mumbling something about Edward Cullen. I kicked him, trying to wake him up, while I clutched the curling iron like it was a baseball bat. The hinges squeaked as the door slowly opened, revealing a familiar set of eyes and a thin, strained smile.

"_Mom_?"

"Happy birthday, Bella, baby!" she cheered.

My mother pushed the door open wider and proudly presented me with a card like she was offering me the keys to the city… like she hadn't been conspicuously missing for the past two weeks, like I wasn't set to beat her with a curling iron.

"Here you go, honey!" she announced.

When I didn't answer or make a move to take the card, her eyes fell on the sleeping figure at my side.

"Isabella Marie Swan!"

I jumped, reflexively clutching at Seth for security. Seth's eyelids fluttered open, and when he focused and saw me there, he smiled. "Morning, Bell," he slurred.

It took a couple seconds for him to realize that something was seriously off. With one glance at my mom and he shot up out of the bed and put as much space between the two of us as possible.

"I'm waiting, Isabella," my mom demanded through gritted teeth.

"This is Seth, mom," I offered.

"You're sleeping with a boy?" she asked and marched into the room with her hands on her hips.

I couldn't help but shake my head and sneer. I may have been _sleeping_ with a boy. My mom, on the other hand, had been so busy fucking her boyfriend that she'd forgotten she had a family.

"Seth's my friend, mom."

"You're just sixteen years old, young lady!"

"Actually, I'm seventeen, now. You kind of missed a year in there, huh?"

"I should go," Seth mumbled, but there was nowhere for him to walk; my mom was blocking the door. The only thing his words accomplished were to divert my mom's attention. She shook her head as she gave him a good once over. No, '_hi, nice to meet you, I'm Bella's negligent mother_.' No '_thanks for keeping my daughter company while I cheat on my husband_.' Nope, just sad and silent shaking of her head.

I clambered out of the bed and positioned myself between the two of them. With my mom there, I couldn't help but looking at Seth a little differently. He was only wearing a pair of boxers and a Vision Street Wear shirt with enough holes that it really didn't qualify as clothing anymore.

I swallowed nervously. I couldn't believe that all we'd been doing was sleeping… for an entire week. Seth and I had a weird relationship.

"I think it's time that you get the hell out of here, Mister," my mother hissed at Seth.

"No!" I shouted, surprising myself. I turned to Seth because I was having a hard time even looking at my mom. "My mother should go, Seth, not you. She has no right to get angry now, she has no right to step in and pretend to be a mother all of the sudden. I don't even know why she's here."

My mom slammed the door against the wall, leaving a big hole where the doorknob smashed through the soggy drywall, and then she turned on her heels and marched down the hallway.

"He can be sure my lawyer's hearing about this!" she yelled. "Letting his daughter sleep with men under_ our_ roof. Letting her turn into a tramp right before his eyes!" The front door slammed shut and something inside me snapped.

"Maybe I'm whoring it up because of the awesome example you set, mom!" I yelled out my bedroom window as she clomped down the steps. That stopped her. She swung around to face me.

"Don't you talk to me like that, young lady!"

"How about I just don't talk to you at all, mom?"

"This is what I get when I try to do something nice for my daughter? This is my thanks? Happy fucking birthday, Bella! Spend it with your drunk fucking father if you think I'm such an awful mother. Enjoy."

She flung my birthday card at the window and it bounced off the screen. I sunk down onto the bed and listened to the sound of tires as they pealed away. I didn't cry. I was too stunned for sadness. I simply felt numb.

"Are you okay?" Seth asked.

I nodded and sank down and settled against the headboard. Seth perched on the edge of the bed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I slumped against him, deflated and suddenly fighting for air.

"Happy birthday?"

I laughed bitterly. "She doesn't get to stay here anymore."

"You don't need her, Bell."

"I don't know, Seth. I need… something."

"We'll work it out together, okay? We'll make sure she doesn't get to hurt you on your birthday again."

That's when I cried.

xXxXx

When Seth and I made it into the kitchen we saw the beginning stages of a pancake breakfast and a sink full of dirty dishes. We ignored it all and opted for Toaster Strudels. I used two packets of icing since it was my birthday.

Jake swung by and picked us up for school. I took my newly designated seat in his car - I didn't have to call shotgun anymore.

"Happy Birthday," Jake murmured with a smile as he slipped a small box into my palm. Inside was a little moonstone pendant on a black string. He leaned across the console to tie it around my neck, and while he was close like that, he took the opportunity to kiss my mouth. It was a hard kiss; like he was trying to make an impression on a stone he just happens to be making out with.

Jake and I were kind of dating, I guess, even though I was always with Seth. The two of them had settled into an uncomfortable truce, and all three of us usually walked the halls together between classes. No one at school knew what was going on with us, but we weren't about to explain ourselves, either. What would we say? Seth was homeless, my dad was a drunk, my mom was a slut, and Jake was in love with me? No.

We unanimously and wordlessly decided to give off an air of mysterious superiority. If no one at school could figure us out, it was simply because they were just your run of the mill Long Islanders, while Jake, Seth and I were destined for greatness. We were indecipherable. We were weird and elite. We were untouchable.

Of course, we continued our Masens-centered existence. A day didn't go by when we didn't listen to their music, or watch their videos, or simply trade in our favorite Edward Cullen quotes. Those days, though, it all left me a palpitating, sweaty mess. Seth would laugh and he'd punch my arm or kick at my feet or ask a random Edward encounter question.

"How many times did he say you were wet on that pier, Bell?"

(Four times).

Jake didn't like to hear about my limo ride with Edward Cullen, though. I chalked it up to jealously. I tried not to talk about it much when he was around, and instead I'd lie in bed each night, with Seth next to me, and I'd replay each moment over and over in my head... Until I was so bothered that I'd toss and turn and Seth would tell me to get myself to the bathroom.

I'd kick him playfully, but I'd go. I'd watch myself in the vanity mirror as I slid my hand up my shirt, pretending it was Edward's. I'd pinch myself and knead my little boobs and slip a hand down my sleep shorts and find that swollen point. With a deep breath I'd push myself up against the edge of the vanity, it's hard edge pushing into my fingers, pressing my hand against myself. I watched in the mirror until I had to close my eyes, and then I'd think of him watching me. I thought about his flat stomach, his eyes, the way he said my name. I pretended that he climbed on top of me in the limo. That he pushed me against the leather and did... this... to me.

Then I'd fall asleep just fine.

"You know, if you want some time with Jake tonight, for your birthday and stuff, I could be gone," Seth offered as we sat against the brick wall outside the lunchroom and I doodled Edward's name in my notebook.

"Dude, that would be totally cool," Jake said as he slid down between the to the two of us.

I didn't really want alone time with Jake.

"Thanks. Maybe," I hedged and went back to concentrating on the little notebook in my lap.

I'd been trying to write a thank you letter to Edward Cullen for a week. It always came out wrong, though. Just writing his name made my heart beat in a funny way, and then I got all caught up in how he made me feel, how much I was drawn to him, how I'd never felt like that about any other boy… or man before. Even though I knew that I couldn't write that, those were the words that wanted to come out of my pen.

Then I'd try for something more formal. I'd address him as Mr. Cullen and simply say thanks for the ride. But when I looked at those letters, they left something very important out, something I couldn't figure out how to say.

xXxXx

Later that evening just as the fireflies were coming out and the streetlamps were coming on, as I was trying to clean up the mess that my mom and dad had left in the kitchen, Mrs. Tanner knocked at my door. She looked nervous and small standing on my front steps with her arms wrapped tightly around her round little body.

"Mrs. Tanner?" I asked, opening the door.

Her khaki pants were ironed and her rhinestone-covered top was so white that it glowed under the streetlight. Every permed orange hair on her head was held stiffly in place. She didn't belong on our property - that was for certain.

"Um, hi, Bella."

"Hi Mrs. Tanner. Is something wrong?"

"No, um, not exactly," she replied glancing over my shoulder and into my house. I blocked her view, though. The neighbors didn't need to know about the state of my home.

"Can I help you, then?" I asked.

"No, no. We just got back from Cabo, and there was this package in the mail."

She held out a small, yellow envelope. When I noticed the black sloping script, my heart fluttered and I felt dizzy. I recognized the handwriting from album covers, maybe. It couldn't be – could it? I clutched the doorframe for support.

"It's our address, but your name," Mrs. Tanner continued, inspecting the envelope closely, handling it like she had some right to its contents. "There's no return address. I just don't know what it is," she concluded, shaking her head.

The last straw was when she went so far as to squeeze the padded packaging. I grabbed it from her with a shaking hand.

"It's for me. It's definitely for me," I informed Mrs. Tanner.

On closer inspection, it _was_ his handwriting. Edward Cullen wrote my name.

"Maybe whoever it's from just transposed the house numbers," my neighbor offered, but I wasn't listening.

"You know, they could have written eighty-one instead of eighteen."

"Thanks," I offered as I left her standing on the steps and let the door slam in her face.

I clutched the package to my chest and sank onto the kitchen floor. Then I took a good, long look at the little yellow envelope and traced his slanting script with my fingertip before I carefully pried it open. A cassette tape clattered onto the linoleum.

It was _The Rite of Spring_ by Stravinsky.

I gingerly picked the case up off the floor like it might break. It looked brand new. I'd told Edward that he should listen to Stravinsky on the beach. Was he sending it back? Was this some kind of veiled message that my idea didn't work? Before my mind could run away with any more morose ideas, I pulled a folded piece of thick, cream-colored paper out of the envelope.

**Bella**

My heart screamed; my chest felt like it was split open. I carefully unfolded the paper and held my breath.

**I instructed Emmett that if he indeed located anything by Stravinsky, he should purchase two copies.**

**He found this, as you predicted, at the Riverhead Mall. He thanks you for the tip.**

**I found the crash of the surf to be a jarring counterpoint to the primal rhythm of The Rite of Spring. In short, you gave exceptional advice. I wasn't able to think of anything else after twenty minutes of that fantastic torture.**

**Edward**

He liked it. Right? This meant he liked my suggestion. Maybe. I read the letter again. I pressed the cassette tape to my heart and read his words at least forty-seven times. Over and over.

Fantastic torture.

Exceptional advice.

Bella

_Oh my god oh my god oh my god_

"Bella?"

I jumped and looked up to find Seth standing over me with a funny look on his face.

"What the hell are you doing on the floor?"

I held out the note and licked my lips. My heart raced as I watched Seth reading.

"I was so right," he laughed. "He's not exactly nice, and he definitely likes you."

"He didn't like me."

"He does. He_ likes_ you, you dork." Seth pulled me up and handed the note back.

"You think he likes me?"

Edward Cullen couldn't like me. Could he?

"Edward Cullen likes you," Seth sang.

"No he doesn't."

Seth playfully shoved me into a chair and went rifling around the kitchen.

"You know what you have to do, right?" Seth asked pulling out the bottle of whiskey my dad had stashed in the pantry.

I had no idea. Shake? Faint? Die? Frame the letter?

"You have to write him back."

xXxXx

"It's a really short letter," my daughter says as she holds the yellowed paper in her hands. "He didn't really say so much."

"I was a girl, Little One. Some things, maybe, he couldn't say."

"Like what?" she asks, and her big brown eyes glance up at me. "What could he not say to a little girl?"

I tingle all over. I can feel in my bones those things that I wished Edward felt for me, those things I was alternately so certain of and then doubted. Over the years my impressions changed with the rise and fall of his moods, varying like the tide.

"Mommy?" she presses.

"It was enough that he wrote, Little One. That said a lot."

xXxXx

**June 19****th****, 1987 - EPOV**

I lied in the letter. After twenty minutes listening to the Atlantic Ocean overlaid with _The Rite of Spring_, there_ was_ one thing on my mind: a girl with big brown eyes and startlingly insightful thoughts. She was the first interesting person I'd come across in years. And she was sixteen.

My thoughts weren't pure as the driven snow. I was well aware that I'd reached a new low. I wanted to fuck a child senseless and then crawl inside her brain and look around. My desires had gone from simply immoral to illegal.

Some of the assholes I knew would offer me a fucking medal for not getting that kid naked or making her get on her knees. Maybe jacking off to images of her wearing nothing but that wet T-shirt was somehow superior, but it didn't fucking feel that way. It was sincerely troubling. I didn't go for children. I didn't pull little girls backstage and line them up, and fuck them one after the other.

Don't cringe. It's been done in my reluctant presence.

And I certainly wouldn't let myself any closer to this child, no matter how beguiling she was. No matter that she was completely unaware of her attractiveness. No matter that she walked around with a woman's body and didn't have a clue what it might do to another person to see it on display.

No. Matter.

I'd forget her.

I stayed at the beach for days longer than I'd intended, and every day at sunset I wandered along the shore and I played that stupid Walkman, hoping that the girl was doing the same.

I'd forget her.

She said I'd feel simultaneous solitude and companionship – accompanied by the composer. That may have been true if those words hadn't come from her lips. Instead, I walked along the water's edge searching for a connection with her, hoping that my package had made it to her doorstep and she was experiencing the same thing I was, just twenty miles down this stretch of lonely sand.

That's where Emmett found me. I knew what was coming. We'd been due in the studio two days ago. I'd ignored the calls to the hotel. Another day or two and I was sure they'd try to bring me in by force.

"Dude, Alice and Aro are going to string me up by the balls if I don't get you back to New York."

"Don't you like it here, Em?" I asked. The land was flat and tan, and you could see to the horizon in either direction. There was comfort in the monotony, or there was comfort knowing I might make out the silhouette of her small, tempting body if I looked hard enough.

"It's beautiful in all of its desolate glory," Emmett deadpanned as he squinted his eyes and pretended to contemplate a point on the horizon.

I laughed out loud. Emmett was smarter than he needed to be for his job. I suppose it was why I kept him around.

"Sitting on the end of an island's not going to help. You know that, don't you, Edward?"

"Nothing short of a lobotomy is going to help me, Emmett."

"I can make a few calls when we get back to the city," he offered with a chuckle.

"So, you're recharged and ready to protect me from the screaming hordes in New York, then?"

"Me?" he asked. "Doesn't matter to me where I am when I'm keeping you out of trouble."

"Is that what you do?" I asked with a laugh.

"Not even close, Edward. Turns out maybe I'm shit at my job. The trouble's different these days. Can't say I've kept you clear of it."

"Damn fucking right," I agreed.

"She's kind of young."

I let the phrase hang in the air. Was I that fucking obvious? Yes. I was.

"She's not trouble, Emmett. She's just a little fucking kid. It all starts and ends with me. How the fuck are you supposed to keep me from myself?"

Emmett grumbled something and walked away. I'd said the wrong thing. Whether he liked this deserted beach or not, we both knew it was preferable to dwelling on the answer to my question.

I'd have to deal with that when I got home.

I looked at the Walkman, hit play and continued my walk. I was glad that I'd have Stravinsky to get me through it.

xXxXx

**June 19****th****, 1987 - BPOV**

We had a loose birthday plan. Jake was supposed to stop by the house. We'd all hang out and we'd probably drink. There were whispers of a Carvel ice cream cake and rumors about scoring pot. And then, the piece de resistance – Seth was giving Jake and I some time alone.

With that cassette tape in my hands, I didn't want any part of it.

"I can't do this tonight, Seth," I said as we sat at the table, trading shots of whiskey.

"Drink?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"No. I have to go to the beach." I stood up a little too quickly and had to hang onto the edge of the table for support.

I knew that it's what Edward wanted when he sent me the cassette, and I knew I'd never be able to write back to him without following his instructions.

"Jake's gonna be pissed, Bella. He had… _plans_. You know?" Seth waggled his eyebrows. I wasn't enticed.

"Jake's always pissed, Seth. Send him to the bathroom with my picture. He'll get over it."

Seth groaned, but he didn't stop me from leaving. He was a good friend. Maybe he'd even keep Jake from the beach. I could only hope as I held the cassette case tight in my hands and I marched down the parkway.

I waited until my feet hit the sand to press play. I turned up the volume as high as it would go and closed my eyes. I was completely unprepared for the staggering intensity of the music or the wall of noise that hit me, and I sank into the sand, clutching the beach grass as an anchor, like I might get blown away.

The music shook me. It seemed to beat with the rhythm of my own heart, and then it would take my body off to a place I didn't think it wanted to go. The water pounded against the shore, and the music pounded in my ears and the wind whipped my shirt against my body. And it built and built, and I almost held my breath. My hand strayed and I pressed my thighs together and found it hard to catch my breath.

I wanted… some alone time in the bathroom. I wanted Edward there with me, listening to Stravinsky, feeling the same way I did. I wanted to know if he felt this pressure between his legs, if his heart beat differently. I wanted him.

For minutes after the piece ended, I lay panting in the sand. I'd blown my own mind. I couldn't believe I'd told Edward Cullen to do that, and that he'd followed my ridiculous advice.

I laughed out loud as I rewound the tape. I listened again, and I slipped my hands down my pants, and I heard little pieces of The Masens in there – in the dissonance, in the syncopated rhythms, in the way it made my heart thunder. Instead of a connection with Stravinsky, I could hear Edward.

I bent my knees, I dipped my fingers, and I thought of the man that I'd met on the pier. It was almost like the music and the ocean were pressing down on me, beating me, and this time I kept going as my breathing changed, as the feeling between my legs grew from a nagging ache to a burning fire.

And I pinched and pressed and plunged my finger inside myself, and felt like I was falling apart, fallen Edward Cullen apart.

xXxXx

**Present Day, over ice cream**

"This music is weird, Mommy."

_The Rite of Spring_ wasn't dinner music. I'd put it on for dessert. I thought it might go down easier over ice cream. Perhaps I'd been wrong.

"In many ways, it marked a change in western music, Little One… from harmonic, to more dissonant," I explain.

"You mean from pretty to ugly?" she asks, scrunching her face up like she's tasted something sour.

"Something like that," I agree with a chuckle. She's essentially right.

"This isn't like The Masens, Mommy," my daughter says, listening hard despite her obvious dislike for the sound coming from the stereo system. It makes me love her more.

"You're right again," I offer with a smile of encouragement. "But there are hints that it influenced their music: the tempo changes, the way sometimes The Masens seem to all completely fall apart and go off in different directions, but then come back together."

"I don't know what you mean." She looks slightly troubled as she takes a big spoonful of ice cream.

"I guess I was just playing this because we both liked this music a lot. This was the first thing we listened to together. After this there were other composers, but they were all influenced by Stravinsky."

"You guys were weird," she laughs as she finishes up her dessert.

I laugh back at her, overjoyed that she's included Edward and I in the same little sentence. I'll take weird, gladly.

"It's bedtime, little girl," I say, collecting her empty bowl.

"Can we listen to the pretty song he sings?" she asks. "The slow pretty one from the other night? Just one time before bed."

She's made my night. I'm beaming. "We can even listen twice, Little One," I say and I wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tight.

After I put her to bed, though, I switch back to Stravinsky. It was the very first piece of himself that Edward shared with me. It helped to hold little pieces of my soul together when I thought they might shatter.

xXxXx

**August 1989 - Alice Brandon doesn't like me. I spent most of the day in my room. I don't know where Edward was.**

Edward and I sat at the same end of the table these days. That morning we were kissing over a late breakfast… and touching, and nuzzling and stroking, letting the feeling between us build, until I felt like I'd choke on it. If I choked, I'd die happy, though… if not frustrated.

He'd arranged this feast for me after he found out that my favorite breakfast food was Toaster Strudels. When I'd wandered out of bed scraping the crust from my eyes, Edward was already awake. He grabbed my hand and led me into the kitchen.

I'd never known such decadence. The croissants had been delivered fresh from the bakery. He'd ground whole coffee beans and brewed them in a tall glass jar called a French press, and made fresh-squeezed orange juice as well. There was a big bowl of fresh berries topped with mascarpone instead of Cool Whip. Not to mention the slabs of thick-cut bacon straight from the butcher.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Everything Toaster Strudel isn't," he said, leading me to my seat.

We feasted on breakfast and we kissed. He asked questions about Rose, and about my upcoming course load. He worried that things might change between us once school kept me away from home more.

"Home?" I asked. My home had been sold over a year ago.

"Yeah, home," he agreed. That's when I realized he was calling his apartment my home.

I was so overjoyed that I jumped out of my chair and climbed onto Edward's lap. His lips tasted like strawberries and coffee, and there were little pastry crumbs caught in his stubble. I struggled to keep my knees on the chair while my hands ran through his messy hair, until he simply picked me up by my hips and slipped my ass up onto the table in front of him.

He pushed plates and linens and my shirt out of the way, and I was braless, topless, and aching.

"A fucking feast," he mumbled, standing over me, pushing me down, leaning over me, finding berries to press between my lips and roll over my nipples. I wrapped my legs around his waist, searching out the bulge in his jeans.

The word 'please' escaped from my lips, strangled and urgent.

A look of fear passed over his face so quickly that if I didn't know him as well as I did, I might have missed it. Edward's hands ran over my shoulders and down my back until he held my ass in his hands, and he lifted me just so…

Just so I gasped, and bucked.

"Please," I asked again, louder this time. Intentional this time.

He kissed me in the rhythm of the movement of his hips, his fingers curled and grasped my shorts, his thumbs ran up under the edge, toward me, towards the ache, and I pushed harder and knotted his hair in one hand, while my other hand searched out his fly.

He was going to let me. He was going to let me. And I kissed and I writhed, and berries were knocked out of a bowl.

"Oh my god!" someone gasped behind me.

Edward and I both froze and then I slipped out from under him, clutching my chest, searching for my shirt. I noticed a shock of spiky back hair, a black skin-tight leather skirt and an artfully ripped Dead Kennedys T, before whoever it was disappeared.

"Shit," Edward swore as I listened to the fading sound of high heels on marble, as the kitchen door swung like it had only been a ghost.

"Who?" I asked and clutched Edward's arm. He stared at my hand like it belonged to a stranger.

"Alice," he groaned and tossed my top in my general direction. He walked out without another word, without a kiss, without looking back.

Alice… Alice Brandon, I decided. I knew her name, of course. She'd signed The Masens back in the day. And she'd just seen me topless.

I pulled my shirt over my head and settled uneasily into a chair.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I heard Edward ask. "We agreed to meet on Tuesday."

"This _is_ Tuesday, Edward."

"Shit," he swore again.

"What the hell are you on that you don't know what day it is, Edward? You're flushed and sweating and, and… and you're fucking a groupie on your kitchen table," she finished in a hiss.

"I'm not _on_ anything, Alice, and it's none of your fucking business."

"It's my _business_ when it's happening while we're supposed to be having a _business_ meeting."

"Leave it alone, Alice. I lost track of time. I've been writing."

"Fine," Alice huffed. "You want a minute to help that kid get herself together and get in a cab?"

"No."

"I can tell right now that if we're going to have a serious meeting, she's got to go. You keep staring at the door instead of looking at me. I want you in the room if I'm talking to you. You should tell her to go home."

"She_ is_ home."

I held my breath. The silence in the apartment was stifling. I could hear the ticking of the clock in the library down the hall.

"It's not what you think it is, Alice."

"Edward, she's what, sixteen?"

"Alice!"

"Men," she spat. "Fucking fine, let's hear what you've got for me. I don't know why you didn't call Aro, though. He's got more of a stomach for this kind of shit than I do."

I left our breakfast mess on the table. I left my flip-flops on the kitchen floor. I sprinted quietly down the hall to my room and shut the door. Then I pulled my pillow over my head.

Alice Brandon couldn't stomach me. She'd made what Edward and I had together feel dirty and underhanded, and Edward hadn't said anything to contradict her.

In five minutes I'd gone from lying on a table with cut lemons and chocolate croissants, making out in the sunshine, feeling like he was finally going to take off my pants, hoping that I'd finally get to feel him inside of me… to feeling like a naïve piece of trash.

I hadn't thought much about the fact that we spent all of our free time in his apartment. I knew Edward was private about his personal life and I loved our time alone together. It was what I craved more than anything else. I didn't want to share him with anyone.

But there was an entire world out there filled with adults like Alice Brandon. They'd think he was just fucking a teenaged groupie.

He wasn't fucking me.

Was I a groupie?

Edward left me alone with my thoughts for the rest of the day. I couldn't bring myself to leave the apartment. I picked at croissants and sipped cold coffee. I pulled out the little box that I kept buried at the back of my closet.

I opened it and I felt my heart fall out onto the floor. I'd idolized Edward Cullen for years, and I'd kept every little reminder like it held some sacred significance: so many letters, cassette tapes that I'd been too embarrassed to leave lying around, that little piece of T-shirt, the wrist bands from the two separate Masens shows I'd been to… and _The Rite of Spring_.

That tape was evidence that maybe Alice was wrong… wasn't it? Didn't it prove that I was more to him than a groupie? He didn't send Stravinsky to all the little girls he'd given a ride home to.

There were others. How many others?

You're the only little girl _at the moment_.

How long was a moment supposed to last? Because I got the sinking feeling it had just ended even before it really began.

I popped _The_ _Rite of Spring_ into my Walkman and found my way to the balcony outside the sitting room. The air was thick and heavy; the sunshine couldn't fight the late summer haze. Pigeons hopped lazily in the shade underneath unused chaise lounges.

I slid against the brick wall and pressed play.

Everything was based on this, wasn't it? Everything he'd been playing on piano at night, the sweet melodies interspersed with chaotic dissonance. His new music was hard and full of life, and maybe, full of me. Wasn't it all because of me? For a few days there, maybe weeks even, I'd thought it had been.

My heart fell farther and the sun climbed higher and I pressed re-wind and re-play on _The Rite of Spring_ twenty-three times before I climbed into my bed and fell asleep.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

Of course, that wasn't the end. Not by a long shot. That night Edward came back sometime in the middle of the night and he climbed into my bed, and he dried my tears and kissed me tenderly and held me until I fell asleep.

He was gone in the morning, of course, but he left a note.

I rifle through my little box, looking for the small yellow card.

"Your life is larger than you realize. You mean more to me than you know."

I gasp, even today, twenty-two years after the fact. He managed to buoy my hopes and set fire to my heart with only fifteen words. I search through the box and pull out a small, black notebook. I know the rough draft is inside.

I find the letter that I wrote on my seventeenth birthday. I remember how I ran home from the beach that night, repeating the words over and over in order to remember them.

**Dear Edward…**

**EPOV**

Emmett found me on the balcony staring off into space, listening to Glass's _metamorphosis_. "What is it, Emmett?" I asked, turning the volume down, but leaving the headphones in place.

"Trouble," he chuckled.

I noticed he was wearing a green canvas bomber jacket. Somehow, I knew. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch. I was supposed to forget her. Fucking impossible.

The music made the way Emmett handed me the envelope all the more dramatic. It was appropriate.

**Dear Edward,**

**Did you want to explode after about six minutes? I did. I thought I was going to shatter into about a million pieces until the next soft passage wound its way through my body, threading all of those little pieces together and holding them securely in place.**

I placed the paper in my lap.

"Emmett?"

"Yeah, Edward."

"I need you to make me a copy of the cassette I'm listening to."

"You're not going to send me to the mall?" he laughed.

"This one's not sold in malls just yet. Otherwise, you can be certain you'd be on the road to Riverhead just about now."

**BPOV**

It took three weeks. I'd begun to think that I miscalculated by sending the letter along with Emmett's bomber jacket to the address listed on his card.

But, no.

This time the package came right to my house.

This time my hands shook a little less as I unfolded the stationary and began reading. This time he didn't hold back as much with his feelings. This time I didn't let Seth read and I didn't breathe a word of it to Jake. This one was just for me.

**Dear Bella…**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to LoMomo for pinched beta hitting, and KikiTheDreamer for telling it to me like it is, and of course to MaryJaneStew for somehow fitting exercise and fanfiction into her life!**

**Thanks so much to Indie Fic Pimp for choosing TiaL for the WIP of the Week, and to the a-fucking-mazing Fiction Freak95 for writing a review that brought tears to my eyes. Now I'm off to read Meet the Masens and The Journal - my Friday update buddies, and to hope that maybe Finding Bree Tanner will update today too...**

**Thanks so much for the reviews! *waves to new readers* I'll be hiding in a corner & holding my breath & waiting to hear what you think. (But not for long. I've got sucky lung capacity.)**

**xxx, M**


	8. I Won't Share You

**A/N: Team TiaL: You rock like The Masens. MaryJaneStew, KikiTheDreamer & LaMomo - take a bow.**

**I didn't write I Won't Share You - it's by The Smiths. **

* * *

><p><strong>Dear Bella,<strong>

**Sometimes I forget that human beings possess the capacity for change. Perhaps sometimes we become so jaded that we fall under the assumption that change connotes something dreadful, and is therefore to be avoided at all costs. Sometimes we wake and find that we've already changed.**

**Have you read The Metamorphoses?**

**A friend of mine just sent me a copy of his newest composition, and fuck if he hasn't changed completely, and used Kafka as his guide.**

**I'm nowhere near the beach, but I like to listen to this as I sit outside on the balcony of my apartment. It pulls at my heartstrings and I feel desperate. I'm filled with longing, but I can't for the life of me figure out what I'm longing for.**

**Maybe not to be a dung beetle.**

**Maybe to close my eyes and forget.**

**Maybe to open them and see someone as full of beauty and potential as the unique young woman I shared a ride to the east end of Long Island with.**

**Maybe it's simply enough to feel that longing again.**

**No, honestly, it's not enough. What would be better would be to hear what you think of this piece of music.**

**As much as it would amuse me to turn Emmett into my own personal letter carrier, I'll receive your response quicker if you send it directly to my address. I'd like that.**

**Edward**

I haven't been able to put the letter away since I unearthed it last night. I kept it on the nightstand as I slept. It was the first thing I laid eyes on this morning, and I checked in on it immediately after my shower.

I've read it countless times over the past twenty-four years. I've poured over it, searching for meaning, looking for symbolism. After I first received it, I even managed to swipe a hardcover copy of _The Metamorphoses_ from a school supply closet, hoping for a deeper understanding of Edward's words.

He wrote about longing, and I still feel it as I hold the paper in my hands. I vividly remember sitting on the beach on a hot and cloudy afternoon, listening to Philip Glass's _the metamorphoses_ and longing to launch myself into the ocean and swim to New York, or to just start walking, never stopping until I ended up at his doorstep.

I was certain Edward had no idea what real longing was. I was sure that the way every cell in my body screamed for him was completely unprecedented: the first real case of longing, ever.

It didn't end, though. I never got over it. No matter how hard I tried to beat it back and ignore it, the little blue flames lapped at my sanity, licked at my independence, and frayed the edges of my feminist pride.

Waiting.

Longing.

"Mommy?"

"Little One." I smile and my heart hurts as I gaze at my daughter. She's the daughter I never thought I'd have. She's the daughter I never questioned that I'd keep. She's so much more precious to me than I ever thought possible. I pull her into my arms.

"Mommy!" she laughs wriggling out of my grasp. "You're weird."

"I am," I agree and try not to let her see the tears in my eyes.

"Is that another letter?" she asks snatching it from the bed where it landed. "From _him_?"

I resist the urge to pull it away from her. I know that I wanted to tell this story, but that letter still holds so much of my heart that I feel she's staring into my soul. As much as I'm willing to give out little pieces of it to thousands of strangers on a regular basis, I'm still protective.

"It is," I confirm. "Another letter. The second."

"It's longer than the first one. What's the met-mor… posis?" she asks, sounding it out.

"A book, and a piece of music."

"Another ugly one?" she asks with a roll of her eyes.

"No, this one is different. We can listen while I make brunch."

"Aunt Rose is coming too today, right?"

"Yes. And she's bringing someone," I add.

"Not Uncle Royce."

"No," I agree. "Not Royce. Someone else."

xXxXx

**August 1989 – Breakfast is quickly becoming the most troubling meal of the day. **

I wandered out of my bedroom hoping to pick up with Edward where we left off the day before; either with soft kissing in bed, or dry humping on the kitchen table, or maybe, there was the off chance we might actually talk about how he'd left me heartbroken and hanging when he went off with Alice Brandon.

Instead, I found Edward's security guy, Emmett, sitting at the kitchen table. Apart from Alice and Emmett, we hadn't had any visitors at the apartment all summer, unless you counted the cleaning lady who swept in and out each week without so much as a word.

Emmett smiled and stood when he saw me.

"Good to see you again, Trouble," he chuckled.

"Um, hi, uh… _Mr._ Emmett?" I joked nervously, my gaze alternating between the bodyguard and his charge. Edward had his back turned to me, busy preparing coffee at the counter.

"I could run with the whole Miss Bella thing, but I've gotta tell you, I prefer Trouble," Emmett laughed, surprising me with an enormous hug. "Especially since_ Driving Miss Daisy_ came out. You're no Jessica Tandy."

"And you're no Morgan Freeman," I laughed, still nervous.

Edward's eyes strayed towards Emmett and I as he poured three mugs of coffee. I self-consciously patted Emmett on the back. Edward stared. Emmett held out a chair for me. Edward glared. Breakfasts were quickly becoming the most off-putting meal of the day.

Edward slid a mug of coffee in front of me and kissed my temple. I had the distinct impression that he was still eyeing Emmett as he did so. "Morning," he murmured, his hand cradling the back of my head.

"Morning," I gulped.

If Edward was staring Emmett down, it didn't appear to ruffle the big guy in the least.

"I heard you met Alice," Emmett said, relaxing in his chair and taking a huge bite of Jelly donut.

Edward made a strangled noise as he sat at the far end of the table.

"What?" Emmett huffed, tearing off a small piece of donut and tossing it at Edward. Edward let the piece of pastry sail past him and stared pointedly at his mug. "Should I make something up? I was just in the neighborhood with a dozen donuts and no one to share them with?"

"Alice," I confirmed. I looked towards Edward for help, but he had more interesting things to do… like stare at coffee.

"Alice…" I started again.

"She can be hard as nails," Emmett said.

"She was, uh -" I hesitated, not sure which adjectives to use to describe Alice Brandon. Bitchy? Belittling? Older and wider in person?

"She's got a lot on her mind, Trouble," Emmett explained. "Some things you live through and it colors the way you see the world."

"Okay, yeah, I get that. But…" I looked between Edward and Emmett and it dawned on me that this wasn't a random conversation. Edward had actually brought Emmett in to talk to me about the situation with Alice. This was none of Emmett's business, as far as I could tell.

"Why can't _you_ explain Alice's behavior?" I asked, glaring at Edward. "Better yet, why can't you explain _yourself_?"

Edward pursed his lips and closed his eyes.

"You can't take me outside. You can't tell Alice I'm anything more than a piece of ass to you. You can't even talk this morning. But you _can_ just slip in and out of my bed, but _not_ into my pants. Do you want me here? Do you want me to go? Rose should be back by now, so I could -"

The air inside the little kitchen suddenly grew electric, crackling to life. I watched Edward and Emmett's eyes meet across the table. It managed to put an end to my tirade.

"Rosalie_ is_ back," Emmett confirmed.

I blinked. Edward shook his head disapprovingly as he eyed Emmett.

"_You're_ gonna give _me_ that attitude, Edward?" Emmett laughed.

"And you think _Bella's _trouble?" Edward shot back.

"It's fucking funny, dude. Lighten the fuck up."

"Whoa, wait. Back up. _Rosalie_?" I asked. "My friend, Rose? Are we all talking about the same person?"

"I spent a good part of my vacation in San Francisco this summer," Emmett explained, still shaking his head at Edward. Edward closed his eyes and looked away. "So, yeah, maybe we could all double date or something."

"Rose?" I asked. "You and Rose?"

Rose hadn't breathed a word to me. As far as I knew, she'd been with Royce since high school and they planned on getting engaged after college.

"Yeah," he laughed. "Me and Rose."

"I didn't ask you here to talk to Bella about the girl you're fucking," Edward growled

"Jesus, man. No, you asked me here to talk to the girl that_ you're_ fucking."

Edward's chair clattered to the floor. For the first time since we'd met, I was content to let him go. No, content was the wrong word. I wasn't content. I was willing to let him leave the room because I suddenly wanted to cry.

I had no idea what just happened. All I wanted was to understand what the hell was going on. Instead, Edward was angry and his security guard was secretly dating my friend.

I heard Emmett's chair scrape against the kitchen tiles and I saw his enormous boots come into my line of vision. I couldn't look up. I was so afraid that I was going to cry – just more evidence that I was little more than a child. His big hands took mine, and that's when the first tears trickled down my cheeks.

"He hasn't stopped thinking about you since the first night you met. Don't let Alice and Jasper ruin this for the two of you. That would be stupid, Trouble, and you're a smart girl. I can tell."

"Alice?" I asked, my voice wavering. "If this gets ruined, it won't be her fault."

His enormous arms encircled me. As big as he was, Emmett's hug was gentle. I worked to steady my breathing and hid my tears against his denim jacket.

"Are you okay with him?" Emmett asked. "Here, alone?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I asked. I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"He's not exactly a chummy guy," Emmett laughed, pulling away.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew that much. I could handle that much. Aside from Seth, there was very little chummy in my life.

"I think he likes me," I ventured, finally peeking at Emmett. He was smiling, as always, but I could see the concern in his eyes. In that moment I felt cared for and frightened all at once.

"I think he does too, Trouble. But, uh, this," Emmett looked around at the kitchen. "This is… unusual for Cuddles in there. I don't think he has any idea what he's doing."

"Me either," I offered.

"Alice?" he asked. "Do I need to explain Alice?"

"It wasn't personal," I guessed.

"No. She's just used to watching over men that should know better."

"Should Edward know better?"

"Fuck if I know, Trouble. But my opinion's kind of last on the list."

I laughed a little. It sounded sad.

"So, uh… are you cool?" Emmett asked. "Do you want to, I don't know, hang out?"

"Um, no?"

Emmett laughed again.

"You and Rose?" I asked.

"Talk to your friend. It's not my place to say."

Emmett stayed long enough to eat a couple more donuts and finish his coffee. He wrote Rose's new dorm number down on a little slip of paper for me, and after I walked him to the door he surprised me with another hug before leaving.

As I passed by the piano on my way back to the kitchen, I noticed Edward's handwriting on a sheet of thick white paper on top of the music shelf.

**Slip in and out of your bed, and into your pants.**

Seeing my own words there stopped me in my tracks. Whenever I saw his handwriting, I had the same reaction: I traced the letters with my fingertip, like it might help give me some insight into his mind. It turned out, though, that I'd been kidding myself for years; I had no idea what was going on in that man's head.

"You have a way with words. You know that, don't you, Bella?"

I didn't even jump at the sound of Edward's voice. I was used to the way he could walk in and out of a room like a ghost.

"This isn't exactly what I said," I replied, still tracing his sloping script.

"Should I change it, then?"

Edward came closer until he was just behind me, and his hands reached around either side of me for the paper.

"For someone who writes songs for a living, you have an uncanny way of leaving things unspoken," I offered.

"Alice looks out for me. She worries. She has her hands full with a man that acts like a child. She blames me, and rightly so. She doesn't know you," he explained. He crossed out the word "and" on the paper and inserted "but not", making the quote at least accurate.

**Slip in and out of your bed, - but not into your pants.**

"It's not Alice that needs defending," I said in a small voice.

"I'd like to use this. With your permission," Edward murmured in my ear. Underneath the words, he wrote my name.

**Slip in and out of your bed, - but not into your pants.**

**-Bella Swan**

"Don't change the subject, Edward. Why am I always trying to guess what I mean to you? Why am I left trying to piece things together? How am I supposed to do this?"

"There's no manual, Bella."

I took a deep breath and spun around so that I could look him in the eye. He kept his arms on either side of me, clasping the paper behind my back.

"You really need to write that manual, you know? So all the other little girls know what the fuck they're doing when -"

He silenced me with a kiss: a hard kiss that took my breath away and backed me against the piano. The keys clattered, matching the discordant way my nerves were suddenly firing.

"There's no one else," he growled, his lips against mine.

"Write the manual for _me_, then."

Edward took my face in his hands. "There's no one but you. Do you understand?"

"No," I sputtered. "No."

"What do you want?" he asked, searching my eyes.

"To know what _you _want."

I watched Edward swallow. His hands slipped to my shoulders.

"I don't believe in relationships, Bella," he said in a voice that sounded defeated.

"Relationships? What's this, then?"

"Parading someone before the world because you find their genitalia alluring is barbaric, at best." It was like he was trying to convince himself.

"But you've never seen my genitals," I argued.

"Yes, your pants," he said and his hands slipped to my hips. He glanced at the piece of paper in his hand. "Is this all about your pants?" he almost laughed.

"No, it's also about my… genitals. But it's also more than -"

He didn't let me explain, his mouth covered mine again and his stubble scratched my face. His hands slid around to my ass, and up my spine to grab the hair at the back of my head.

"Do you think I don't want this?" he asked, holding me against him, his lips brushing mine as he spoke. "Do you think I haven't wanted to fuck you six ways to Sunday from the moment we met?"

I couldn't answer, I could hardly breathe. His body was so large and hard; his cigarette and cinnamon breath was all I could smell; his eyes were bright enough to burn.

Edward let go of my hair and slipped a hand down the back of my shorts and I gasped and jerked backwards. My ass hit the piano keys, pinning his hand against me, pinning him to me.

Something changed in that proximity. His kisses grew softer. "God, Bella," he breathed and he trailed his free hand down my cheek, then over my breast, then slipped it under the seam of my shorts, so that one hand was against my ass and the other was in front: running over my panties, running over me. My forehead fell against his shoulder.

"I've fought myself on this, Bella. What the fuck was I supposed to do? What the fuck?" he asked.

"I... don't -"

It was all I could say. Jake had fumbled, but to have Edward's body flush with mine, to have his hands… there. I couldn't catch my breath. I was sure I'd need a paper bag to keep from hyperventilating. I was going to collapse.

He teased and rubbed. I ached. My fingers dug into his biceps. Back and forth over satin. Back and forth, pressing and dipping. I found myself rocking into him, against him, and I was… wet. Wet? God, wet.

"Fuck, you're wet," he said, and I silently agreed and shrunk from him a little. But Edward held my ass in his hands, and held me against him, and his fingers pushed the satin away.

"Fuck me," he rasped, and I would have tried to, if I could figure out a way to make my body move.

Instead, his fingers tried. They slipped inside easily, rhythmically, and the heel of his hand brushed against me and I squirmed and almost died in his arms. I was charged and angry and confused, and putty in his hands.

"So fucking wet," he mumbled, and I could feel dampness slipping down my thighs.

Then his hands were gone and he was holding my hips, and then, as I gasped for air he pushed my shorts and panties down around my thighs and lifted me onto the piano keys. My heart nearly leapt out of my throat; the keys were cold, and the music was jarring - like Glass or Cage.

Shorts fell to the floor, satin stretched around my thighs, holding his wrist between them.

My hands searched for support and they found his shoulder and that place where neck meets jaw. I could feel his pulse underneath my fingertips – hammering and hard. I forgot to be embarrassed and confused, I forgot to be angry, because my body was screaming and his fingers were back inside me, and my hips were moving, and he was watching me.

Jake never looked at me like that, but Edward Cullen did. It made my body buzz. Excited and overwhelmed, I pulled his face to mine.

"I want you to tell me that you want me," I asked.

"God, I want you," he agreed with a twist of his fingers.

I jumped and my ass clattered against the piano keys. He kissed and caressed; his fingers twisted and pressed and I nearly jumped into the air, blinded by the electricity that spasmed outward from the point he was touching inside.

I felt him smiling against my lips.

He pressed and twisted again and I hummed into his mouth and pushed against his hand. He bit his bottom lip, held my head in his palm and his eyes flickered. I ground against him to a minor key and an arrhythmic pitter pat. The noise spurred Edward on, or maybe it was me and the little noises I was making, but after that he was relentless. I rocked, his fingers dipped and his free hand slipped up under my T-shirt. He pinched and tugged and I couldn't do anything except feel, and burst, and breathe. Finally, after all of that, I could breathe.

In bed later, our limbs were intertwined and he pushed the hair from my face.

"I told Alice," he murmured as he stared into my eyes.

"What?" I asked, in a post-coital haze… if you could have one of those without actually having… coitus.

"She took me by surprise, but she knows… how did you put it? She knows you're not just a piece of ass."

"What am I, then?"

With a kiss, he murmured against my mouth. "Everything."

I lost myself in the kisses, and the large hands in my hair and against that ass that I was more than.

"I want everything. What's in here," he said, touching his forehead to mine and gazing into my eyes. "And here," as his fingers brushed over my rubbed raw nipple and came to rest over my heart. "And here." His fingers found me again and he plunged them deep inside, hooking them behind my pubic bone, making me gasp and my eyelids flutter.

I moved and shifted until he was on his back and I was straddling his hips, his fingers still inside.

"Take it then, it's yours," I whispered.

He shook his head. "That's what's so fucking frightening."

"I'm not scary, Edward. I promise."

"There's no one as good as you are, Bella. It's not you, it's what I could do."

I rocked against his fingers and trailed a hand over his chest. "God, I want to know," I murmured.

"It's not a joke. It's what I could do."

xXxXx

**Present Day – Nearly time for brunch**

My daughter is playing Super Mario Brothers with Seth on the Wii. They don't ask me to play anymore. I only hold them back.

I have the box on my lap. I should be putting those last couple of letters back inside and packing it all away before our guests arrive, but that action goes against the grain. I can no longer push it all into the dark recesses of the closet.

Instead, I am unloading. I take out the small slips of paper, the note cards, and the torn pieces of loose leaf, one by one.

**August 13, 1987**

**Bella,**

**You ended your last letter with the word '_wow_'.**

**The feeling is mutual.**

**Please, tell me more about yourself. Because to know these little pieces of your mind and your heart, it's incomplete and staggering and it makes me think that it cannot possibly be real. I need to know the person that comes with them.**

**Tell me about yourself, so I can begin to understand how something so profound could come from someone so young.**

**Edward**

I place the letter carefully on the bed and pick up another.

September 28, 1987

**Bella,**

**I've never met your friends Seth or Jake, so I can assure you that you don't need any help from them in order to appear interesting. Although, perhaps that's not completely true. Ever since your last letter, I can't help but wonder about your living arrangement. That has definitely piqued my interest.**

**How is it that your father doesn't mind Seth living under the same roof with you?**

**I mind and I'm only a casual observer.**

**Edward.**

What Edward didn't realize, what I would have never admitted out loud or on paper, was that I needed Seth that last year I lived at home. We pooled our resources. He got a job at the skate shop in Smithtown to supplement my income from Newton's. We cut coupons. Seth stole a stack of lunch vouchers and we were awash in peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and tiny cartons of milk.

We never had to steal liquor. My dad made certain we had a steady stream.

Seth did steal a huge bucket of condoms from the local walk-in clinic, though. One day in mid-fall I came home to find my bed covered with an enormous pile of individually wrapped condoms, in fifty-one shades of neon.

"You know, just in case," he said, laughing and throwing a hot pink one at my head when I walked into the room.

I dodged the rubber and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you, like, trying to channel Michael J. Fox, with that look?" he asked, throwing a fluorescent green one at me.

"No, Kirk Cameron," I laughed, chucking the condom back at him.

"Protection is important, Bell."

I found the hot pink rubber and threw it back at Seth. "I don't need protection."

He took a handful and threw them at me. A rainbow of latex rained onto the floor. "I've got the inside scoop. You will," he laughed. "Soon."

"Or _you_ will," I shot back, picking up the wrappers and throwing them at his head.

"Nuh uh, Bell. I'm pretty sure Jake's way more into you than he's into me."

I paused, an electric blue condom still clutched in my hand. "_What_?"

Seth's answer came in the form of the mother of all condom barrages. Handfuls of condoms relentlessly pelted my arms and legs.

"Mercy!" I giggled, trying to dodge behind the bed, but Seth sprung across the room and grabbed me, pinning me down onto the condom-covered mattress. We were both laughing and out of breath as I struggled to break free. The wrappers rustled beneath us and scratched at my bare arms and legs.

"What the fuck?"

Seth and I looked up to see Jake standing in the doorway.

xXxXx

I can't help but smile now at the absurdity of the situation that happened so many years ago in my bedroom on Long Island. Smiling is a new development. Those memories usually leave me bereft. I have the urge to tell Seth - after brunch, of course.

I pick up another letter from Edward.

**November 22, 1987**

**Bella,**

**I haven't given any rides, strange or otherwise, since we met. I live alone. And I live to hear what you think about mid-century piano compositions.**

**Enclosed: Sonatas and Interludes by John Cage.**

**I lose myself in the melody, if you can call it that. Please tell me what happens to you when you put on the headphones and press play.**

**Edward**

God. _Sonatas and Interludes_. I still remember the way that piece of music haunted me the first time I heard it. It may as well have been the theme music for that last year I spent at home. Living through that year was like walking through a minefield in a daze. I lived from letter to letter. I lived with Seth's support, and I lived with Jake's presence. I lived with Edward's long distance attention.

I ate, I slept, and I walked in semi-sleep.

Jake hung on me and my Masens commentary more than ever, since I had the inside track on Edward Cullen's mind. After I'd share my perspective on a song or a quote, he'd kiss me with what felt like renewed determination, gazing into my eyes, like he was searching for something there.

"Do you love me, Bella?" he asked one night just before Christmas as he alternately questioned and kissed me and pawed at my boobs.

"Of course," I answered, because it was true. He and Seth were my family. I couldn't imagine my life without them.

He kissed with more vehemence, pushing me onto the bed. We made out as Edward Cullen sang in the background.

_I won't share you_

_With the drive_

_And the dreams inside_

_This is my time._

I went with it. Jake loved me. He wasn't a letter in the mailbox or an unattainable daydream. He was a real part of what made my life bearable. He loved me. That's what I told myself as he clung to my hips with his strong hands, as he pushed himself against me, as he kissed and sucked at my neck and my ear.

I lost myself in Edward's voice and the sound of the wind in the maples outside.

_I want the freedom and the guile_

_Life tends to come and go_

_That's okay as long as you know…_

_I won't share you_

Something distracted me, though, and I opened my eyes and there was Seth - leaning against the doorjamb and biting his lip. I grabbed Jake's arm, and he glanced up into the mirror on the wall by the bed, and there we were – the three of us looking at one another. A charge went through the room, so much more profound than anything that had been happening between Jake and I. We all froze for a moment, and then Seth backed away. We heard the door slam as he left the house. The mood was completely shattered and Jake let me go.

"We don't…" I started to say.

"I know," Jake interrupted. "I know." And he left me there, confused.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

The doorbell rings and my heart flip-flops in my chest. I know it's ridiculous that I'm so nervous, but it's been years – so many years.

I make my way past the Wii gamers, (far be it for one of them to greet our guests) and open the door to find Rose standing on my porch with a big pink box from the bakery. One look at her and I can tell that she's nervous, too. I immediately snap out of my funk and pull her into my arms. This is her life we're talking about. Today is about her.

"Long time no see, Trouble," the large man standing behind my best friend chuckles.

Rose isn't letting me go, though, so I have a difficult time giving Emmett the greeting he deserves.

"Good to see you, Em," I manage. He hasn't changed much: a few more lines around the eyes, a few strands of gray around the temples, but he's as large and muscular as ever. And his smile hasn't changed a bit, either.

Rose finally lets me go and I'm able to almost wrap my arms around the giant man.

"Where's this kid?" he asks, pulling away and giving me an appreciative once over.

"She's inside."

"With Seth?" Rose asks.

"Yep," I confirm.

"God, it's been forever," she says and dashes inside.

"Rosie!" I hear my daughter call out, her little footsteps echoing inside.

Emmett looks suddenly bashful.

"Nice place," he says, whistling and eyeing my house. "Not too shabby."

"It's home."

"Home?" he asks. It's a loaded word. I've spoken without thinking. It's been so long since I've had one of those guarded conversations, I've forgotten how they are supposed to play out, and I honestly don't care to remember.

"Yes, my home. Now come inside, Emmett. Please."

I take his hand and pull him up the steps, but I might as well try to tug at one of the pillars holding up the Golden Gate Bridge.

"Emmett," I laugh, but when I look up at him, for once, he's not smiling.

"Is it true?" he asks.

I can only nod my head.

"That's… good."

"It is," I agree.

"Edwardian architecture?" he chuckles, nodding at my house again.

I playfully elbow Emmett in the ribs and pull him up the front steps to meet my daughter.

Brunch goes well. I watch as Emmett and Rosalie discreetly touch one another, I smile at the little kisses when he refills her mug, or at how she passes him a jelly donut without having to ask which is his favorite. This makes me happy. After so many years, I know that this is right.

Seth and Emmett get along amazingly well, despite the fact that Emmett knows nothing about literature and Seth thinks security details are amusing, at best. I let my daughter off the hook from her table-clearing duties so that she can challenge Emmett to a game of Super Mario Brothers. Emmett manages to shake the house as he plays.

Rosalie and I rinse dishes and load the dishwasher. Her divorce is all but finalized. Her children are days away from coming home from college for winter break. They've accepted the separation, but still hold her responsible for it, and although it's fair, it still weighs on her heart.

Even so, she is radiant. She glows.

She has to pee.

When she doesn't return after a suspicious amount of time, I assume she's joined Emmett, and leave the dishes until later. She's not in the family room, either. I smile when I notice that my Little One is winning, and leave them to their game.

I find Rosalie sitting on my bed. There's something on her lap.

_Oh my._

"Is that?" I ask, but I don't finish the question. Of course it is… the box.

"Wow. The letters. You kept them," she mumbles, staring inside.

"All," I add. "I kept them all."

Her eyes go dark and she purses her lips. This is a sore point between us and I wonder whether I should rip the box from her hands.

"I've been telling her the story, Rose. The letters help."

"Are you sure about that?" she asks. She swallows. She shakes her head.

"It's honest."

"How much of the story, Bella?" she asks in a near whisper.

"I haven't decided yet."

"Just the starry-eyed girl and rock star parts?"

"Rosalie," I admonish.

"Bella," she says and her voice is measured. Her bright blue eyes find mine across the bright and airy room.

"Don't, Rose."

The tirade I expect doesn't come.

"I want you to be happy," she says simply.

"I _am_ happy, Rose."

Her eyes sweep around the room towards the sound of Emmett, Seth and my daughter laughing and shouting, and playing the Wii. She glances around us at the high ceilings, the exposed beams - the outward perfection of it all.

"I want you to be _really _happy, Bella."

"Me too," I agree, sitting down next to her and taking her hand.

In my heart I feel I'm getting closer. The light burns brighter every day.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to the ladies at the TwiFic Zone for rec'ing There is a Light, to Remmy & Dolly for help with San Francisco & to everyone in the TiaL group on fb for your constant love & support. **

**Facebook Teaser War with Fiction Freak95 & MsEm makes my days so much happier. The hubby always said I was stupid for being a pacifist. **

**Thanks to everyone for reading & reviewing & rec'ing this fic...**

**To all my U.S. readers, have an awesome 4th!**

**xxx, M**


	9. Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me

**A/N: My TiaL team rocks harder than Slayer. I couldn't do this without them.**

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

I keep the box on my nightstand. It holds so many little pieces of my heart that the closet will no longer do. The pinpricks I feel in my chest whenever I unearth some long forgotten memory remind me that there's something still very much alive in there. They hint that I know what I'm doing. Then, as I lay alone in bed at night, those memories take me back in time, and I'm that young girl, squealing and writhing and bringing myself to climax with thoughts of Edward putting pen to paper and thinking about me.

It's enough that I almost forget the dark parts.

Almost.

I surprise myself one evening when I pull out a torn sheet of yellowed paper. I know what it is even before I unfold it and see my name written twice: once in Helvetica Bold, and then my signature underneath.

I drop the page on the bed like it might burn.

In a rush, I'm surprised, embarrassed and hurt all over again. I hear that old, familiar voice rise up from wherever it's been hiding, stoking my anger. _He never really cared. Someone that cared could never… _I silence the voice though, because I also recognize the love that I didn't want to see in his eyes that day, and I know how much I hurt him.

The comparatively small amount of pain I caused, of course, shouldn't matter. I had a right.

I had a right.

**April 11****th****, 1994 – My first trip back to New York City, this time, as an author. **

"Bella."

Just one word: my name, and I froze.

I hadn't had a chance to glance at the next person in the line, but after hearing those two syllables, I didn't have to look. His voice always had the power to make my heart try to leap through my throat.

"Tell me this isn't about me," he continued quietly, pushing a copy of my novel in front of my face.

"It's not about you," I murmured with a shaky voice. I couldn't look. I could hardly think straight. Just the sight of his fingertips and I broke into a cold sweat.

I never dreamed he'd have the nerve to show up at my book signing. I never dreamed that he would _want_ to. And the story _wasn't_ about him, exactly. According to the book jacket it was about the redeeming quality of love.

"Tell me without lying," he said, more insistently.

"Are you that much of a monomaniac that everything has to be about you?" I asked, pushing the book back in his direction with my eyes still on those fingertips.

"Of course I am, Bella. I thought you knew me," he chuckled sadly.

"_Knew_," I growled. Armed with righteous indignation that showed up a few seconds too late in my estimation, I took a chance and looked up. It all came back to me in a rush: his hands, his chest, his jaw, his eyes… _god_, his eyes. Edward Cullen. The whole was so much more than the sum of the parts.

I felt dizzy.

I took a long, shaky breath and tried to ignore the fact that some piece of me still wanted him. A much larger piece than I cared to admit.

"Is there a problem?" a female member of the security staff asked, looking between Edward and me as we stared one another down.

We answered in unison.

"No."

"Yes."

"I'm just here for an autograph," Edward explained to the guard in that deep, soothing voice of his. Of course, she was immediately lulled into a sense of calm. I knew all too well that Edward had that ability with women. I'd suffered those consequences. While he was charming her, he pushed the book back in my direction and made certain his fingertips touched mine as he passed it to me.

I'm sure girls had used that same move on Edward thousands of times in order to touch him; he had practice with that kind of thing. Maybe, while I was signing, he'd flash me his boobs or pass me his panties too, I thought to myself; and despite my anger, I smiled at my own bad joke.

I heard air whistle through Edward's lips.

"I was afraid I'd never see that again," he sighed.

I handed the book back to him.

I'd left my signature on the title page: no note, no love-addled dedication, no fuck you, you asshole. Just my name. Nevertheless, Edward took the book into his hands with a self-satisfied smile, like he'd won something in that exchange. I struggled with the immediate, irrational desire to rip my novel from his arms and tear out the page, leaving him with nothing.

It was like Edward could read my thoughts; it was always like that between us, from the very first time we'd met. He clutched the book tighter and gnawed at this lower lip, his cool armor crumbling right before me. He pulled a small envelope from his pocket and slid it in my direction. When his eyes met mine they were uncharacteristically soft and pleading.

I suppressed the desire to take my ballpoint pen and stab at least one of those bright green orbs. Unfortunately, I had an audience. There would be witnesses.

"Every letter I write is for you," he murmured softly.

"Do you really think -" I began, but I was interrupted when the security guard intervened. She simply placed her hand over Edward's, wordlessly encouraging him to move on.

I was quite certain the guard had no idea who she'd just touched. She didn't know what some women might have given for that casual contact. She didn't know what _I'd _given.

Without another word, Edward turned and left.

I didn't glance at the note again until much later in the evening when the event was over. Even then, I contemplated leaving it on the table. It would mostly likely be tossed into the trash where it probably belonged.

I couldn't though. I wasn't that strong.

As I plucked the letter from the table I wondered if it was the little star-struck girl inside me that made me sweat and tingle, and that made it hard for me to catch my breath. I knew the answer immediately. No. It was much more than that.

I would never have said it out loud. I would never have even let myself think the words, but today I can admit it… just barely.

I loved him.

I loved him so much.

In that moment, in the emptying bookstore, I hated myself for loving him.

And I hated him for that as well.

And I never, ever wanted to lay eyes on him again, but at the same time, I absolutely had to see him immediately… just to give him a piece of my mind, of course. Not my heart. He'd taken too much of that already.

I'd made that decision before I even read his letter.

**Bella,**

**Each word in your book tears a new hole through my chest. Your writing is as beautiful and moving as it always was. The manner in which you convey emotions with words is awe-inspiring; your prose has the power to transport the reader, not only to a time and place, but to an emotional destination as well. **

**I admit that I couldn't help but read between the lines. Those inferences gave me the courage to see you today. Quite honestly, I couldn't stay away.**

**Every day, Bella. Every day. Not one goes by without a memory of you. A passage from a book. A piece of music. A piece of fucking fruit, or the empty room down the hall where I spend the night sometimes.**

**You know where you can find me tonight.**

**Come find me. Please.**

**Edward**

That evening I slipped away from Alice and the rest of my little entourage. I ignored invitations from old college friends.

There was no eager crowd jostling to get a glimpse of me as I walked down the sidewalk and slipped into the diner. I immediately spotted him at his old table near the back, with his burger and his gin. His head was held in his hand, his fingertips massaging his forehead.

I was surprised to see Maggie. With one look at me, she dashed over to the entrance, plopped the order she was carrying onto a random table, and pulled me into a warm hug.

"Bella, I read it," she cheered under her breath. "And so did Liam and Siobhan. God, it's beautiful. We didn't know you wrote, you know?"

"Thanks," I said bashfully, feeling suddenly and unexpectedly exposed. Putting myself out there was so new that it still caught me off guard.

"I, uh, we… we didn't think we'd see you again," Maggie continued, with a subtle nod in Edward's direction.

"Well, I'm glad I caught you," I said, squeezing her hand.

"Will you be… uh -?"

Maggie and I both chanced a look at Edward's table. He was trying his best not to glance at us as we were chatting, but I saw the way his facial muscles twitched and how his eyes darted. His hair was a mess like it always was and he was wearing those thick-rimmed glasses of his, but he was clean-shaven. I remembered how I used to slide my lips along his smooth jaw line right after he'd shave, and how his aftershave made my lips tingle.

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

I recognized the Ramones T-shirt he had on underneath his ratty cardigan sweater. I'd pulled it off him countless times. I used to wear it like a nightgown, padding around the kitchen looking for a snack, and he'd come from behind and his hands would slide underneath and cup my breast or my ass or...

I wondered if the sweat was glistening on my forehead.

"No, I didn't even need to ask," Maggie giggled as she pushed me towards Edward.

Our eyes met for a fleeting second and I held my breath and tried to ignore the chills and the sparks and the way it was suddenly hard to swallow. I looked at the floor: still covered with sawdust. I looked at the tabletops: little daisies still graced each booth.

I was all too aware of each step I took that brought me closer. So was he. I could feel it.

Edward's adam's apple bobbed in his throat, he pushed the hair from his eyes and stood as I came nearer. He didn't dare smile.

I sat across the table from him and clutched the edge of my chair. My stomach jumped, but my voice was surprisingly calm.

"Don't come near me again."

"You came to see me in order to tell me that?" he asked, far too amused for my liking. I resisted the urge to slap that ghost of a smile off his face… As much satisfaction as that might have given me, I didn't trust how I might react when my hand touched him.

"Stay the hell away from me, Edward," I warned.

"Bella, I -"

"You have a lot of nerve, is what you have."

"I do," he agreed.

"You do."

With that settled, Maggie unobtrusively slipped a sticky menu in front of me and slid away to give Edward and I our space. The thought of food at that particular moment made me feel sick and I pushed the menu away.

"You didn't marry Jake," Edward said out of nowhere, searching out my eyes. I heard unmistakable relief in his voice.

"Excuse me?" I asked, pretending to be brave enough to stare him down. I pressed my knees together… so they didn't shake. No other reason.

"He told me that he was going to marry you. But your bio -" Edward placed my novel on the table and opened to the back where my life story was laid out in two small paragraphs.

Once again, I contemplated stealing the book from him, but I was certain he'd only buy another. In that moment I couldn't say whether that new knowledge had me more annoyed or pleased.

"There's something I wanted to give you," Edward continued.

"I still haven't recovered from your last gift," I hissed, and in my mind I slammed the table into his torso and stomped off, never looking back. In reality I held my hands in my lap and swallowed, as wave upon wave of pain and loss washed over me.

I could see by the way Edward's face was suddenly lined with guilt that he knew exactly which gift I was referring to. I prayed that he wouldn't try to spell it out for the both of us, because I was certain I'd break into a million pieces right there in the diner.

"Bella, I'm so -"

"I don't want to hear it," I growled, interrupting the apology that he'd never tried to give before. "There are some things that saying you're sorry for can never fix, Edward."

He fell silent and his fingers traced my name on the front cover of the novel, just like I used to trace his script.

"I never listened, you know?" I said. "You tried to tell me. I should have known."

Our silence seemed to expand to catch the two of us in a bubble. I held my breath, waiting for him to disagree. He didn't argue, though.

"I hoped…" he whispered, and the bubble burst. "And tonight, when you came…"

"I came to tell you to stay away. I came to put an end to any grand gestures. Because the biggest, grandest, most extravagant gesture you ever made broke my heart. The only thing you ever gave me, besides lies, besides sweet fucking nothings and pie in the sky lyrics, was money for -"

"Enough!" he thundered, slamming his fist on the table.

"Yeah," I agreed. "It was pretty harsh. It's hard to hear, isn't it? How about living through it? How do you think I felt?"

"Bella." He used my name as a plea. I tried to ignore the tears glimmering in his eyes and reached across the table to take the book from him. I opened it to the title page where I'd left him my signature.

"I take it back, Edward," I mumbled as I tore the piece of paper free. "I take it all back."

I should have torn the page to pieces and thrown them in his face, but instead I folded it and placed it in my pocket.

"I never told you how I felt," he rasped. His voice was cracking. I pretended not to notice.

"Actions speak louder than words, asshole."

**Present Day**

I eye the title page of my first novel with sadness and suspicion. Tears sting my eyes. Doubt crawls over my skin. I remember the way Maggie stared at me as I stomped out of the diner without looking back: like I'd lost my mind.

I remember the way Rose was aghast when I explained everything to her over the phone. She'd been hoping for at least a bitch-slap, perhaps a knee to the balls.

I remember the way Seth held me as I cried when I got back to San Francisco.

It makes me want to take that small piece of paper and burn it. But I don't. I know that it somehow fits into the same little box with the hope and the innocence and the love. I know there's more buried inside.

I don't sleep well that night. I keep the title page on the nightstand with Edward's first letter, hoping they balance one another out.

I think I'm still dreaming as my eyelids flutter open, my vision out of focus as the morning sunlight slants through the window. I must be dreaming, I think to myself, because I hear faint strains of The Masens' final album, but not the version sold in stores. The cut I hear in my dream is rough and uneven and full of Edward's raspy vocals that alternately whisper and shout about shit and loneliness and… the beauty of hope. I listen as the discordant paths taken by the guitar, bass and drums come back together in near euphoria as Edward screams triumphantly about finding a light in the darkness.

With The Masens' last album, Edward gave the misfits something to live for.

I roll over in bed and pull the covers around me.

Edward sent me that rough studio cut in the spring of my senior year. Scratched on the cassette were the words: _I need to know what you think_.

I'd figured it was another piano composition, but it was so much more. It was everything we'd spoken about over the past nine months somehow synthesized into ten songs.

Seth and I sat on my bedroom floor speechless.

Jake regarded me with curious awe.

I played the tape constantly. I lived by its lyrics. I sang along like…

I sit up in bed and listen to a little girl's voice accompanying Edward. My little girl. It's no dream.

I stumble out of bed and pad into the living room to find her belting out lyrics as she stands on the coffee table, using a Barbie doll as a mic. When she sees me, she covers her hand with her mouth, like it might erase what I've just witnessed.

"Morning," I smile proudly.

She jumps off the coffee table. "Sorry!" she says. She's not supposed to be up there, but I sense there's more to her apology. "I took the tape out of your box while you were sleeping, Mommy. I just like this one a whole lot," she explains as Edward wails in the background.

"Me too," I say and take a seat on the sofa.

"It's different from the other ones. Am I in trouble, Mommy?"

I pull her onto my lap. "No, Little One. It's too early for trouble. And this album _is_ different. You have a good ear for music."

"How'd it get so different?" she asks.

I take a deep breath, preparing to say it out loud for the first time in my life. "Because he met me," I manage in a whisper. "The albums were different after he met me."

"You did this?" she asks with awe.

I nod. "I think so." I feel proud and important. I've never owned this before.

"Because you hung out with him all the time?" she asks.

"We didn't hang out at all when he wrote this. In fact, I only saw him in person once that year."

xXxXx

**April 11****th****, 1988 – I got into **_**NYU**_**. **_**I **_**got into NYU.**

Aside from Edward's letters and tapes, the only other worthwhile thing that came in the mail my last year at home was my acceptance letter from NYU.

My hands shook as I read the words. They wanted me. I was in.

I'd start school in August and I'd finally get the hell out of Mastic Beach – away from my mother's negligence and my father's alcoholism and my tiny, little insignificant life. Not to mention that I'd be closer to Edward. So. Much. Closer.

I signed up for the first possible orientation session. As far as I knew, my mother had no idea about my acceptance, and I couldn't trust my father to stay sober for six straight hours, so, I brought the only two people in the world that felt like family.

Jake and Seth were more than happy to come along for the tour.

You might think that things between the three of us would have been awkward after we caught Seth watching Jake and I that afternoon. You'd be wrong. We did what all good children of the eighties did when presented with something confusing and embarrassing and unknown about sex. We ignored it… as best we could.

The only consequence was that it seemed to stall things between Jake and I, physically speaking. I can't say I really minded all that much. That's what the letters from Edward, the bathroom vanity and my fingers were for.

Jake did kind of feel me up on the train ride to the Manhattan, though. I blamed it on the excitement. And he might have surprised me with an open mouthed kiss while we waited outside the admissions office for orientation to begin.

I don't remember much about our tour of the campus that spring afternoon – just Jake's hand in mine, and Seth's arm casually slung over my shoulders. That's not completely true; I remember the library, of course. With over three million volumes and serving over six thousand patrons daily, I fell completely and irrevocably in love with the Bobst Library – if you could fall for an institution.

I'd get to know that library intimately, too. I'd find refuge in quiet corners, waiting for the lights to dim while I gorged myself on The Complete Works of Wilde. I'm jumping ahead a bit, though. That day in April of 1988, I simply walked through the stacks in awe, with chills running down my spine.

When we couldn't be bothered anymore with the historical significance of the math building, or how many years the business school had been churning out Wall Street titans, Jake, Seth and I slipped away from the group. Jake twined his fingers through mine as we wandered through Washington Square Park. Seth playfully punched my arm and called me the coolest nerd he knew. We strolled past the Chelsea Hotel and wondered out loud which famous drug addicts and artists were inside. We did our best not to stare at the all the crusty punks, with their mohawks and dirty plaid pants and facial piercings as we walked down St. Marks Place. In the east village, we browsed through rack upon rack of vintage clothing, laughing as we pulled out overpriced polyester leisure suits and gaudy prints from the sixties.

"Oh my god, it's perfect!" Seth called out to Jake and me from the back of a store on Avenue A. "It's like a big fuck you to the very fabric of formal dance universe."

"What?" I laughed.

Jake just rolled his eyes. He was never one to lose himself to racks of clothing like Seth and I could.

"This is what you're wearing to the prom, Bell! This is it. No doubt."

Seth walked over to me with a big grin and a big dress. It was made of yellowed lace, with a cinched waist and a full skirt. At first glance it looked classic and demure, but on further inspection… "I think the liner's missing on the top, Seth," I said, noting that there was nothing but lace from the waistline up.

"Exactly," Seth said, waggling his eyebrows.

I slapped him playfully. "Nice try. If you want to see my boobs, you should just ask."

"I think you should, uh, maybe, try it on," Jake said, taking the dress from Seth and sliding his hand inside the bodice to check out just how see-through the thing really was. It was_ very_ see-through. Jake cocked an eyebrow and passed the dress to me.

I came out of the dressing room minutes later, blushing scarlet and trying to cover my little chest with my arms.

Seth beamed. Jake bit his lip and shifted his feet.

"The bra doesn't match, sweetie," a drag queen said in passing. "You should take it off."

"Agreed," Jake mumbled.

Before that idea could gain any more traction, Seth came to my rescue with a different bra to try on with the dress: a black pleather and lace push-up that came with matching panties. He also passed me a long strand of pearls, an elastic lace headband and long, lacy fingerless gloves.

One look in the mirror after I re-accessorized and I managed to take my own breath away. I was goth before I knew goth existed; I was bad-asser than Madonna, kind of, and when I stepped out of the dressing room the people in the store hooted and hollered and admired, and gave me a steep discount when they found out I planned to dress like that to a prom in the 'burbs.

"Am I really going to the prom?" I asked after we finally left with the storeowner's business card and his plea to send pictures that he could post behind the register.

"What? You don't want to go to the prom with me?" Jake asked, laughing. I was pretty sure he hadn't had any prom-like intentions as far as we were concerned. That wasn't our scene.

"You're totally going to prom," Seth said, and he pushed me into Jake as we walked down the street. "You two have some unfinished business to get out of the way." Jake dutifully wrapped his arm around my waist. Seth played with the strap of my tank top.

"Are you and Carmen going?" I asked Seth.

"Nah, we broke up," he replied.

"You should ask someone else, then. We could, I don't know, like, double date, or something." I could think of about twenty girls off the top of my head that would die if Seth asked them to the prom.

"I don't think so, Bell. I think I'm gonna give it a rest for a while."

"Oh my god, is_ it_, like, all tired out?" I asked as I went to pet Seth's penis like a puppy. Seth dodged my hand and we wrestled and struggled a little until Jake cleared his throat.

"Would you two rather go together?" he asked. "I don't want to get in the way or anything."

"That's it!" I said, glancing between my two friends.

"Bell, I wasn't trying to -" Seth began to argue.

"No, no… If my dress is like a big fuck you to the idea of the prom, then wouldn't it be more fuck-you-ier if we all went together?"

I know now that I misread the alarm I saw in Seth and Jake's eyes that day. I should have guessed. I almost did guess. The truth was just outside the edge of my consciousness. At any rate, I was certain that I was playing with fire, and I liked it.

We went back and forth with the idea as we walked, and by the time it was settled, I finally took a look around to figure out where we'd ended up. To my surprise, we were way uptown, right alongside Central Park.

"Whoa, how'd we get up here?" I asked.

Jake coughed.

"_Why'd_ we come uptown?" I asked, because to a teenager with half a shaved head of dyed hair, there was nothing worthwhile north of 23rd Street.

Seth chuckled. Jake held me by the shoulders and turned me so that I was facing a very old and austere-looking high-rise across the street. There was a black limo parked out front.

"I don't get it," I admitted.

"For a nerd that just got into NYU, you can be pretty dense, you know?" Seth asked.

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity near the building's entrance. A little cheer went up from the group of girls hanging out on the corner near the limo. The doorman pushed them back, and a large man strode across the sidewalk.

"Is that -?" I began, but didn't bother finishing my own question, because suddenly, right behind the big guy, there he was: Edward Cullen, wearing leather pants with a suit jacket, a Ramones T-shirt and some Ray Bans.

"Go," Seth said, pushing me into the street.

"Oh my god, I can't," I argued, trying to hold my ground.

My heart was trying to pound a hole through my chest and my knees suddenly felt shaky. I'd forgotten how jaw-droppingly hot Edward was in person, and when I added all of the things he'd written, how sensitive and smart he'd turned out to be, and how much he seemed to care about what I thought… I was stunned. I shook. I felt like the hot dog I'd eaten a half hour ago was about to come back up.

"Edward freakin' Cullen," Jake muttered, shaking his head.

"He writes you letters every week. He sent you the rough cut for the next album. And he totally wrote it for you. Go. Talk. To. _Him_!" Seth commanded with a more forceful shove.

"I can't, Seth!"

Seth growled in frustration and tried tugging instead of pushing. "Jesus, Bella!" he shouted.

That's when it happened. Edward was about to climb into his limo, but he stopped and peered across the street, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. I immediately ducked behind a car.

"Jesus," Seth grumbled trying to pull me out from the cover of the Geo Metro.

"That really big guy, is he the one you know?" Jake asked, still staring.

"That's Emmett," I confirmed trying to literally kick Seth to the curb.

"He's big," Jake said.

"He's nice," I added.

"He's gone," Seth informed me. "He just drove away with your pen pal, Bell."

I sighed and slumped against the car, relieved and disappointed all rolled into one.

"You're a dork, Bella," Seth laughed. "That rock star is like totally in love with you. He looked when he heard me say your name."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"_Was_ he in love with you, Mommy?" my daughter asks as she picks dispassionately at her oatmeal.

"I don't know, Little One."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, were you in love with him?"

"Not yet," I admit.

"What about Jake?" she asks. "Was _he_ in love, at least?"

"It's complicated," I hedge.

She chews her oatmeal, deep in thought.

"Did you guys _really_ all go to the ball together?" she asks.

"The prom," I correct.

"Whatever. Did you go together?"

"We did."

"That's weird."

"It caused quite a stir," I agree.

"But, Mommy," she says, hopping off her seat and running into the living room. She comes back with a picture of Seth and his last boyfriend, Jared. It was such a flattering picture that I didn't have the heart to take it down, even after they'd broken up. Seth doesn't seem to mind. I make a mental note to check in with him about it the next time he's over.

"He likes _boys_, Mommy," my daughter says, holding the picture of Seth and Jared in an embrace in front of my face. "Shouldn't he just go to the prom with a boy?"

"This was 1988. He wouldn't have been allowed to go with another boy. And he was still too nervous to tell anyone."

"Nervous about liking boys?" she asks, wrinkling her little forehead.

"It wasn't very easy to be gay in 1988, Little One."

"That's really sad," she says as she stares at her bowl of oatmeal.

xXxXx

**June 19, 1988 – Happy birthday to me, I guess. I have two dates for the prom. This should be… interesting.**

The administration tried to stop us, but it turns out that there were no rules that specifically prohibited prom three-ways. We took Jake's golden boat of a Buick and played it up for all it was worth. Seth and Jake each held one of my hands as we walked through the front doors to wide-eyed stares and snickers. I sat on Seth's lap as Jake made out with me. The three of us slow danced to Billy Joel, with Seth behind me and Jake in front.

We left early, though. The thrill didn't last as long as we thought it would, and besides, we had more important things to do. Jake had come through with a backpack full of little liquor bottles and Seth managed to score some weed. The three of us pitched a tent on a remote stretch of beach, stripped down to our underwear and ran for the surf, ready to celebrate my eighteenth birthday in style.

We splashed and threw each other into the breakers, or more accurately, Jake and Seth took turns throwing me. When our lips were blue and we couldn't talk without stuttering, we ran back up to camp and wrapped our bodies in beach towels and warmed ourselves with tiny bottles of alcohol and fun-sized bags of Combos.

They really cheesed our hunger away.

After a few rounds of drinks and a few hits from Seth's pipe, Jake's hand found its way under my towel and Seth found the pressing need to take a walk. I'd never been completely naked with a guy before, but pleather peels off easy when it's wet. Jake's hands and lips explored, and it was all a little hard and uncomfortable. His movements made me gasp with surprise, bordering on discomfort.

What can I say about that night? Condoms are sticky in the sand. Warm boys, cold water and plenty of liquor make a girl sleepy. I remember falling asleep tangled in Jake's limbs, thinking to myself that I'd never get the sand out of all of the cracks and crevices, and hoping that gritty condoms didn't do permanent damage to vaginas.

The next thing I knew, I woke up naked and cold as the first orange rays of sun began glimmering over the water. I pulled my towel around myself, wondering what happened to Jake, and then wondering about Seth - trying to guess if he'd walked all the way back home by himself.

I eyed my discarded prom clothes and shuddered. Salt water and sand had made them completely useless. Luckily, I'd thrown a change of clothes into Jake's liquor bag. When I glanced around and didn't see it, I guessed it must be stowed away inside the tent. I crawled across the sand and unzipped the little canvas door, losing my towel in to process.

So, yeah, I was totally naked and on all fours when I found Seth and Jacob asleep in one another's arms.

I don't know if it was my stifled gasp, or the sudden sunlight, or maybe just the weird vibe that shocked and stark naked young women give off, but Seth's eyes shot open as I kneeled there, gaping at him. Then we both glanced at Jake, still asleep, with his head cradled in the crook of Seth's strong arm.

I backed away from the tent, my mind reeling, struggling with what I'd just seen. Seth scrambled up and followed me out of the tent, and we both stood naked and just-fucked by Jake on the beach.

"I'm sorry," Seth began.

I grabbed my towel to cover myself, but by that point, there was really no need.

"What?" I asked, waving my arm to include my naked friends and the tent and the boxers left in crumpled heaps near the dunes.

"I didn't think this would ever happen," Seth continued.

"Me either," I laughed and turned my back to him. I watched as the sky turned from deep indigo to a hazy shade of turquoise before my eyes. Seagulls dove at the rolling waves.

"You never wanted me," I said.

"I wanted to want you. I think Jake still does."

I laughed, "Yeah, right, I can see that."

Seth placed his hand on my bare and sandy shoulder, but I shook him off. "Go put on some clothes," I hissed. "Or just crawl back into _his _arms."

"Bell, don't be like this. Please. You mean more to me than anyone."

"Anyone but Jake," I spat.

"Jake's different."

A new thought crowded into my rapidly expanding consciousness. "Has this been… all along?"

"No. Last night. Seeing him… with you. Seeing him with someone I love. I can't explain."

"You don't have to. I don't want you to. I don't want -"

I pushed past Seth and grabbed for my backpack. I heard Jake stirring inside the tent as I left to change in the dunes. Neither of them came after me, and I walked home with a hangover and a sick feeling of dread in my stomach. The word 'gay' didn't come to me until much later that morning, after I'd showered away as much of the sand as I could find and I was drifting off to sleep.

My best friend was gay, and maybe my boyfriend was too. Yeah, my boyfriend was definitely gay. To my credit, I wasn't disgusted… I was simply shocked. Looking back, I'm surprised that I didn't make sense of all the signs a lot sooner. There's a chance it would have saved us all some heartache. Then again, there's a decent chance that maybe it wouldn't have made any difference at all.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"One word," I prompt as I settle across from Seth with my glass of wine and a box of expensive chocolates sent to me by someone at the movie studio. "Prom."

Seth groans and refills his glass. "I don't know what I was thinking," he sighs, shaking his head.

"I'm sure you know what you were thinking. _I_ even know what you were thinking. You were like, 'I'm totally getting laid!'"

"I was so drunk and Jake was so… naked," he says with a smirk.

"And I was so passed out," I added. "You know, my way of helping things along."

"I was honestly never sure until the moment he noticed me, you know? I watched him gazing down at you asleep in his arms. And he saw me and got up and stood there all naked and manly."

Our conversation dissolves into laughter. I offer Seth a chocolate.

"Did you ever think you guys would -"

"No," he interrupts. "I never dreamed I could have an open relationship with Jake. Kind of like you and -" Seth catches himself just before he utters the name.

"Say it."

"It's not true, though, Bell. You two - it doesn't compare to Jake and I. You've got to know that. Don't you?"

I shrug and I try to shake off the pain that's edging its way into the conversation. It's my own fault. I brought him up.

"He went out of his way to have an out-in-the-open, real relationship with you. Right?" Seth asks.

I smile and nod. "Eventually."

xXxXx

**September 8****th****, 1989 – I'll never forget this night. I think I saw a girl in the crowd that reminded me of myself. **

Once we met up, Rose didn't hesitate to explain in great detail how she'd had sex with Edward's bodyguard all over her hometown of San Francisco for the past two months. I had to stop her when she started in on the list of things you could do at one particularly secluded bench, right next to a tree, overlooking San Francisco Bay.

"Sorry," she said. "But, you know, you asked."

"Well, I didn't ask about the angle of your vagina and the length of Emmett's penis."

"Should I ask about the length of Edward's penis?" Rose countered. "Have you two done it yet?"

"You're changing the subject, Rose."

"You're still a virgin," she taunted.

"I am _not_ a virgin," I argued. "We've been over this."

"Sex one time with your gay boyfriend doesn't count, B. You're still a virgin in my book."

"This isn't about _me_, Rosalie. What about Royce?" I asked, lowering my voice.

"He had that E.F. Hutton internship all summer. I'll break up with him as soon as I see him. I couldn't exactly do it over the phone."

"But you've been back for days, now."

"I'll do it, okay? Royce and I have been together forever. It's hard."

"You weren't together this summer. I mean, what did your parents think?"

"They were fine… as long as they didn't know. But then there was this one time in their hot tub..."

"Oh no!" I said, covering my eyes like it could save me from the mental image.

"Oh yes," she said and shuddered.

I admit it, I was jealous as I made my way back to the apartment. I had no doubt that my relationship with Edward was much deeper than anything Rose and Emmett had going on, but I wished I could have told her that Edward and I had sex all over New York City. Hell, I wished I could have told her that we'd even gone to a movie together.

"You're here!" Edward said with a smile as I walked through the door.

"Yep, that's what my presence means," I replied flatly.

He wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed me on the forehead.

"You ready?" he asked.

"For a forehead kiss?" I wondered out loud.

"For dinner," he replied, pulling me closer and giving me a kiss, full on the lips. "And mouth kisses. Definitely mouth kisses with dinner," he added as he threaded his fingers through my hair, pulling out my ponytail.

"I'll take both," I decided. "What did you make?"

"We're going out."

"What?"

"Out to dinner. Surely you've heard of the practice."

He took me by the hand and led me back out the door with a mischievous grin on his face, before I had a chance to respond.

"But… why?" I asked as we waited for the elevator.

"To prove you wrong. I _can_ take you out."

"Just like you proved you could slip into my pants," I chuckled.

"No guarantees we can cover both bases at once, though," he laughed as led me into the elevator. Edward leaned against the far wall and I took the opportunity to look him over: from his untied combat boots, to his low slung, ripped jeans, to his torn red sweater – he was unkempt and hot, and he pulled me into his arms and turned me around, pressing my backside against his…

"Wow," I murmured.

"I like taking you out," he explained.

"We haven't even left the building," I argued.

"I still like it," he said, running his lips along my neck. I watched Edward and I in the mirrored elevator walls. I could see his hand slipping over my ribs to cup my breast from three different angles. I watched how unbelievably sexy it looked when he pressed his hips against me, and as his other hand found the juncture between my thighs. It was a good thing I could lean against him for support, because I was beginning to think that our little trip in the elevator was more than enough. I was also beginning to see the value of mirrored ceilings.

I decided that we'd made some serious progress with our descent down seventy-three floors. Maybe going out was overrated. Maybe I could just hit the button for the penthouse, and we could go back to bed and Edward could get me naked. Before I could make my move, though, the elevator doors slid open revealing Emmett's smiling face.

"Trouble," Emmett said with a wink and a nod. "And Cuddles," he laughed at Edward. "You guys ready?"

He acted like catching Edward in the process of feeling me up was the most commonplace thing in the world. I disentangled myself from Edward's arms, but he made sure to keep hold of my hand.

The doorman raised his eyebrows as the three of us made our way through the lobby, but he simply held the door open and stepped back to let us through.

I remember the next sixty seconds as a complete blur. Edward held my hand tightly in his as flashbulbs popped and Emmett cleared a path to a waiting back sedan. People shoved pieces of paper and pens in front of us. A man across the street climbed on top of a car to get a better look and shouted something about the death of The Masens. Edward slipped an arm around my waist as he helped me into the backseat, and then he quickly slid in next to me. Emmett slammed the door closed, and the commotion was over just as quickly as it had begun.

I took a deep breath in an attempt to steady my nerves. Edward raked a hand through his hair.

"That wasn't so bad," he murmured to himself.

Emmett lowered the divider between the front and back seats. "See? That wasn't so bad," he remarked, glancing between Edward and me in the rearview mirror.

I laughed out loud and Edward squeezed my hand and smiled. "It's not bad with you here," he murmured. "But riding in cars with you has always been… remarkable."

Edward tugged my hand and I leaned in for a kiss, but that wasn't enough. I noticed the divider rising back up out of the corner of my eye, but somehow it didn't really matter. All that mattered was that I was suddenly straddling Edward's lap as muted lights shined through the tinted windows, flashing over my hands and his face. Flashing on my exposed nipple and Edward's lips, and the swollen head of his cock that I managed to free from his jeans.

Edward kicked at the back of Emmett's seat before he slid both hands under my shirt and went to pull it over my head.

"Whoa," I gasped, placing my hands over his and pulling away.

"That kick… I just told him to keep driving," Edward explained as he unhooked my bra.

"Really?"

"I want you topless."

I wasn't one to argue.

Edward also managed to get me mostly pants-less, and he was totally able to cover those bases he joked about back in the hallway of the apartment building. After months of sharing the same living space, all it took was the back seat of a luxury sedan for me to finally see enough of Edward to be able report back to Rose about the length of his penis.

I'm not telling.

But I will say that I watched Edward's eyes roll into the back of his head as I wrapped my hand around his shaft. I watched the rise and fall of his chest as I slipped my hand down, and then up.

I kissed his neck and he groaned. I brushed my bare nipples against his chest and he moaned. I slid off his lap and then he was the one watching me - with lowered lids and darkened eyes. I pressed my lips against him and tried a little tongue. Then, with a deep breath, I wrapped my lips around him and took the plunge. That was nearly all it took. My first blowjob lasted all of thirty seconds.

Afterwards, I climbed onto the seat next to Edward. His head lolled to the side and he bit his lip as he looked into my eyes.

"This was the best idea, ever," he sighed.

"You should've tried this a long time ago," I offered.

"And the worst idea," he added. "Apparently, I get carried away with you… in cars."

"I don't mind. I think I like when you get carried away."

He held my face in his hand and brushed his thumb over my cheek. "Next time: in a bed. Next time: my mouth, _your _genitals. Next time: no Emmett four feet away. I'm sorry, Bella."

"No, no, no! This wasn't bad. Please don't think this was bad."

It was no use, though. Edward helped me get dressed. He kissed me tenderly. He was filled with regret.

I could tell Emmett was suspicious when he held the door open for us. I don't think he'd been expecting Edward to look like he'd just killed a puppy. He must've thought I was really disappointing at whatever we'd been doing in the backseat, which was kind of annoying. Personally, I thought I'd been pretty awesome.

There was no time to dwell on Emmett's assumptions or Edward's mood, though, because there were even more people crowding around us as we exited the car. Emmett had to actually push people out of the way to give us room to walk. There were bouncers that helped, and barricades, and I kept my eyes on the sidewalk, because the camera's flashes were blinding.

When we finally made it into the safety of the restaurant, I sighed and leaned against Edward for support. I relaxed for all of thirty seconds, until I took a look around. The place looked inconspicuous enough; with old, sawdust-covered floors and sticky looking tables adorned with vases of daisies, but the people that were gathered there were anything but inconspicuous.

I clutched Edward's hand.

I was surrounded by models, actors, musicians and artists, (and probably athletes, but I had no idea about professional sports). They all seemed larger than life. Seriously, I think everyone there was at least six feet tall. And skinny. And beautiful. This included the bouncy girl that greeted us at the door.

"Edward!" she cheered, looking between the two of us, then down at our joined hands. She wasn't very good at hiding her surprise. "Awesome to see you again!"

"Hey, Maggie," he replied.

"So, um, a guest?" she asked, raising her eyebrows as she looked me up and down.

I remember hoping that she wouldn't try to kick me out.

Edward smiled down at me, oblivious to Maggie's attitude.

"This is my girlfriend, Bella Swan."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to each and every one of you that's pimped this story in your A/N's, and on your blogs, and on facebook and Twitter. There have been a ton of new readers and I'm, like, totally stoked. **

**Teaser wars should be back next week. Tune in on facebook.**

**This chapter was... something. I can't wait to hear what you think.**

**Until next time, xxx, M**


	10. This Charming Man

**A/N: Team TiaL works through the night. They don't fuck around. I love them more than macaroons.**

**Songs that I played on repeat while writing:**

_**Skin Song**_** by (who else?) Morrissey: ht tp : / / www . youtube . com/watch?v=tBQVZtP_qvc**

**and**

_**You Are the Everything**_** by R.E.M.: ht tp : / / www . youtube . com/watch?v=_Zn2rHPCyTU&feature=related**

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Another morning comes and goes and I can't concentrate. Another morning comes and goes without writing a single word. For more years than I care to count, the words fell from my fingertips almost effortlessly. There weren't enough hours in the day to get them all onto the screen. There were some stretches of time were I'd go without sleep, where a combination of coffee, chocolate, and No-Doze would allow my fingers to keep moving for close to forty-eight hours straight.

Those were the times that Alice seemed the most at home in her role as my agent. She'd make me shower and she'd feed me a real meal, and then she'd tuck me into bed. She'd bring the mail and we'd go through it together as I settled down for sleep.

She knew what she was doing.

I rifle through my box, pull out random scraps, and line them up on my bed. To anyone else they'd seem like prime candidates for the recycling bin. I know better.

A recipe for breakfast strudel,

A blank postcard from Newport Beach,

The definition of 'everything' ripped from a dictionary,

A snapshot of white sheets and lemons in the sunshine.

They began showing up while I was still on the road for that first book tour. After I'd had a few days to settle in back at home, Alice came by with a pile of mail, a stack of novels from publishers looking for reviews, and a cigar box.

"Someone sent cigars?" I asked as she unloaded everything onto the kitchen table.

"Not exactly," she hedged, pushing the box in my direction.

Inside were small parcels with no return address, but all bearing postal stamps from Manhattan. My heart sped. Somehow, I knew.

So did Alice, apparently. She mentioned something about forgetting her purse in the car. Alice never forgot anything. She left me alone long enough to open each one of the envelopes and to hold the contents in my hands. She came back just in time to catch my first tears with the pads of her thumbs.

"That fucker," I coughed, as I tried not to cry.

"Bella, what happened in New York?" she asked, holding my shoulders, trying to look me in the eye.

I pushed her away and tucked everything back into the cigar box - even the envelopes.

"Tell him I burned it all, Alice. And please tell him to stop."

I didn't burn them. Edward didn't stop. His stubbornness knew no bounds and I had a stupid, tenacious heart.

Sometimes months would go without a piece of mail. Other times, I'd get a flurry of little scraps, one after the other.

"You told him, right?" I asked, after Alice stopped by the house one afternoon with the largest parcel to date.

"I said you destroyed it all," she replied with a roll of her eyes, handing me the brown paper package sent by certified mail. I waited until I was alone to unwrap _Leaves of Grass_. I laid next to it on the bed and lost myself in memories of lounging topless and quoting poetry. I lost myself in the wreckage: to have such perfection, only to lose even more than I knew was possible.

Instead of letting myself fall back into the bitter, dark place I'd inhabited in 1990, I channeled the pain that came with Edward's copy of _Leaves of Grass_. I pulled myself off the bed, sat down at my desk, and I let the feelings that threatened to pull me under flow from my fingers.

It took some time. Eventually, though, I began to wake up and look around… because of Edward. I began to let the happiness in.

xXxXx

**December 1997, New York City – The lines are longer this time.**

"Tell me this isn't about me."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud. My second novel was about a lesbian couple that found happiness through adopting children from all over the world.

I braced myself and took a deep, steadying breath before I looked at Edward. There he was: a little older, but just as handsome, and clutching my newest novel in his hands. He was very obviously trying not to smile, but was losing the battle. I'm certain there was at least the trace of a grin on my lips as well.

"It's not about you," I said with a chuckle, nodding to the book he was holding. There was a portrait of a multi-racial family on the cover.

He laughed and placed my novel on the table in front of me.

This time, I let my fingertips brush his as I took the book. They were rough, his nails bitten, and his fingers may have curled a bit in an attempt to hang onto me. I jerked my hand away when I felt those old sparks. It all happened so quickly, though, that there's a good chance I imagined the whole fingertip exchange.

"Tell me without lying," Edward pressed. His eyes glimmered. He bit his lip.

"Okay, you got me," I giggled. "There's a bit of you in Annalise." Annalise was the name of the family's pet snake.

Edward laughed out loud as I opened to the title page.

"Touché, Ms. Swan," he murmured, placing both hands flat on the table and leaning closer as I scribbled. He was close enough for me to smell; he was close enough for me to feel the way his eyes were boring into my forehead as I bent over the book. My heart hammered and my eyes began to lose their focus. I planted my feet flat on the ground in an attempt to steady my nerves, but there was no helping it. Edward's presence still managed to unsettle my soul.

This time around, I gave in to Edward's request. Ultimately, he was right. We'd packed so much passion and love, and then desperate pain, into such a short amount of time – he'd set off a bomb in my heart. Its effects pervaded each and every word that I wrote. It would forever.

**Edward,**

**Every book I write is about you. From a masochist to a monomaniac.**

**Bella**

I smiled as I handed it back to him.

"Would you see me later?" he asked without hesitation as he read the inscription.

"I don't want an audience like last time," I warned. Seeing Maggie and the old gang where we'd had our first proper date had been too much. It had taken me nearly a year to recover from my last meeting with Edward. I'd come far since then, though. There were things that needed saying.

"I know a quiet place," he offered. He surprised me and tore the bottom portion of the title page out of the book. I jumped in my seat and Edward laughed nervously. "Ripped it out and beat you to it," he mumbled, writing down an address with a shaky hand.

"Ten?" I asked, surveying the downtown address.

"Any time, Bella Swan. Any fucking time you want."

Alice didn't say a thing when I told her I was going out. She simply flashed that signature smile she'd perfected over the years - the one she used when I'd casually ask her if anything interesting had come in the mail, or when I'd tell her how she should handle Edward's gifts. She suggested a simple black wrap dress. I told her to mind her business.

My car dropped me off at a small wine bar tucked away between a bookstore and a brownstone. The hostess smiled when she saw me, and before I could get three words out she led me through the dark, wood-paneled space to a set of glass doors that opened onto a patio. There were twinkling lights strung overhead, ivy covered walls, and heat lamps spaced between the tables… and there was Edward as well. I hadn't even stepped outside and he was already standing, his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers.

"I can find the table myself," I murmured to the hostess as my eyes connected with Edward's.

He seemed to lean on the table for support.

Seconds stretched to infinity as I walked toward him. I smoothed my dress. I took long, confident strides. Forget butterflies, it was like vultures were at war in my stomach. Finally I was there, standing in front of him, clutching the back of my chair for support.

"Thanks for coming, Bella."

I smiled. I didn't trust my voice just yet.

"I heard you enjoy a good bottle of wine," he continued.

"What?"

"Wine," he repeated, nodding towards the bar.

"Oh… Alice?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Not necessarily. Go easy on your agent, Ms. Swan. She has your best interests at heart."

Unnerved, I took a seat and Edward followed my lead. We spoke in unison.

"Bella."

"Edward."

He placed his hand over mine and I was unable to continue.

"You first," he murmured.

"Thank you for the Whitman. It was… too much."

Edward shook his head. "I was never able to open it… afterwards. What's a book if it's not read?"

We watched each other carefully. Edward shifted his hand and threaded his fingers through mine.

"I'm so sorry, Bella."

Our waitress came with a wine list and I pulled my hand from Edward's. Without his touch, I felt suddenly alone, suddenly worried about what needed to be said.

I ordered the first thing I managed to read off the menu, too distracted by those three little words: _I'm so sorry_. I knew he'd say them, but I didn't know what to do with them. I hadn't thought that far ahead.

When our server disappeared, the air felt colder and harder. I curled my hand into a fist, just in case Edward tried that move again.

"A bigger person might forgive you," I breathed, trying to stay strong. _Unforgivable, unforgivable, unforgivable_, I silently chanted.

"I had a responsibility," Edward agreed.

"As a guardian or a boyfriend?" I asked with a bitter laugh.

"As the man that loved you more than -"

"Stop! _Please_." The last thing I needed was more platitudes that I shouldn't believe. I'd struggled with his mixed messages for nearly seven years. I couldn't let myself begin to think that they were real again. That's not why I'd come.

"As a human being, at the very least," he said, slumping into his chair.

"I came to tell you -"

"To stay away?" he interrupted.

"That I don't regret it, Edward. Us. I couldn't let you think that. It's not fair."

Edward sighed. His hand inched across the table. I pulled my fist into my lap.

We sat in silence. The waitress returned with our drinks and we sampled the wine. Voices drifted out to the patio from inside the bar. I twirled my wine glass. Edward, as always, gnawed on his lip.

"I had a feeling you'd keep the Whitman," he said quietly, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, perhaps a little closer to me than they needed to be.

"Why?" I asked.

"You loved it."

_I loved you. _

I didn't love Edward anymore, though. I wouldn't. I may have been attracted to him, but I didn't have to love him. There was nothing there worth loving, just a pretty package to hide the monster inside.

Therapy had turned me into a liar.

"What're you doing these days?" I asked in an attempt to change the subject… and to rescue my traitorous heart. Of course, it's not like I didn't know what he'd been up to. Yahoo was up and running in 1997. SPIN still carried small articles about him from time to time.

"I produce, here and there. Nothing of much note. Enough to keep me busy."

"Do you still play?" I prodded.

"Nothing new. No, nothing like… that," Edward tried to explain. But instead of putting up a wall like he would have in the past, Edward pulled his chair closer and leaned towards me. He rubbed his forehead, tapped his foot nervously on the flagstones, and opened his mouth as if to speak. A couple walked by us, though, and Edward seemed to think better of whatever it was he was about to say.

"Holiday plans?" he finally asked when the couple had gone inside.

I sighed, relieved. "We're meeting Rose, Royce and the kids in Aspen."

I doted on Rose's children and couldn't wait to spend Christmas with them. I'd planned a shopping trip to F.A.O. Schwartz before my stay in New York was over.

"How is Rose?" he pressed.

"She's good," I offered. I _was_ a liar. I forced a strained smile onto my face and wondered if Edward still had that uncanny ability to read my thoughts.

"Very good," he agreed. He was definitely onto me; I saw it in his eyes.

"How's Emmett?" I shot back. Two could play at that game. I took a long sip of wine and waited for Edward's tactful reply.

"He's working with Jam Master Jay these days. You know, the whole East Coast, West Coast debacle, some asinine shit that means he needs a flack jacket on a daily basis. They've got him following around this kid. I don't know, Fiddy Cent, maybe?"

I burst out laughing, shooting wine clear across the table, sprinkling Edward's hands in the process. I choked and chuckled, and tried to mop up my mess.

"What?" Edward asked, sucking the wine from his thumb.

I closed my eyes and tried to get a grip. It was no use. Tears trickled down my cheeks.

"What?" Edward asked again.

"Say it again," I gasped. "Please? Say it again?"

"Excuse me?"

"The guy's name," I prompted.

"Fiddy Cent?"

I died all over again. Hearing Edward pronounce Fifty like Fiddy did me in. I wanted to see him up in his posh penthouse apartment saying Fiddy. Maybe out on his rooftop deck… saying Fiddy. On his bed, saying Fiddy.

_No, no, no._

"Fuck you, Bella," Edward chuckled. Yep, he _could_ read my mind.

"Sorry, I wasn't laughing _at_ you, I was laughing with you and all that jazz, but that… _that_ just made my night."

"Fiddy Cent?" he asked, chuckling.

I giggled again.

"It's so good to see you laugh," Edward said.

"You too," I answered honestly. Edward's laughter was so rare that it was like gold… if gold could fuck you senseless and play piano compositions written in your name.

"You're still so beautiful, you know?" he asked. His hand sought mine out again, even though it was clenched around the stem of my glass.

"I know," I answered, meeting his gaze. Edward's eyes lit and his lips curled. I blushed and looked at my lap. Edward shifted in his seat. We both knew what I'd inadvertently referred to.

"Both inside and out," he added quietly.

I lifted my wineglass to my lips and Edward's fingers fell onto the tabletop.

"Jasper's good too," I offered after I'd taken a sip. "Really good," I added, subtly indicating that I wasn't lying this time around. "I'm sure he'd love to hear from you."

"That's a bridge that doesn't need crossing, Bella."

"Or you could write, or I don't know, send him anonymous slips of paper."

Edward regarded me coolly. I'd certainly changed the mood. It had been my intention, but it was nevertheless disappointing to see how easily he could be thrown from… flirting… with me. No, I didn't need Edward Cullen flirting with me.

"Edward, those, I don't know… the mail."

"You said I never gave you anything, Bella," he interrupted. "Anything except that… money."

"And an address," I added.

"Yes, right. Of course. But what I gave you… you own me, Bella Swan. Completely. Do you understand that there's nothing more I could give?"

"Edward, our… _relationship_ was the most significant of my life, but -"

"Mine too, Bella. And that's why -"

"But, Edward, I'm engaged."

Seconds passed.

"I'm engaged," I repeated.

"Engaged?" he asked, like he'd never heard the word before.

"Engaged to be married," I clarified.

"Engaged to be fucking married," he said raking his hand through his hair.

I took another sip of wine.

"Are you happy?" he asked finally.

"Of course. That's why we're engaged."

"Trust you to do things the old fashioned way," Edward said, recovering nicely. "Love _and_ marriage. Nearly novel… but no ring?" he asked, nodding at the hand he'd held on and off throughout the evening.

"It's being re-sized."

"Of course."

He drained his glass and slid it across the table. He leaned back in his seat.

"Edward, the mail… it has to stop. My fiancé -"

"Say no more."

"Tyler and I -"

"_Tyler_?" he asked.

"Yeah, Tyler."

"Nice… _Tyler_."

"What?"

Edward drew a square in the air with his fingertips.

"Whatever, _Edward_," I replied.

"Fair enough," he laughed. "What about you and… _Tyler_?"

"We're in talks about my last novel… About making it into a film."

"A film? Bella, that's -"

"It's so exciting, isn't it!" I cheered. "A few different companies are after the rights, and I don't know, it looks like it's really going to happen. We fly out to L.A. after the holidays."

"Wow."

"I know!"

"That's… exceptional, Bella. I'm so happy for you… about the film."

"I saw that you collaborated with Sting a bit," I offered.

"Two faded assholes amusing themselves. It was nothing."

"Don't talk to me like that, Mr. Cullen," I chuckled, kicking playfully at his shin. "_Sting_ was never an asshole."

"Agreed," Edward said with a reluctant smile.

We eyed one another across the table, sneaking glances. I sighed. The god's honest truth was that I wanted to crawl into Edward's lap. The same feelings that flooded through me when I first held that book of poetry – the same ones that overtook me each time I unwrapped one of the small trinkets he'd sent – they'd come back one hundred fold in his presence: the tingling, the fire, and the undeniable pull. I was awash in guilt and love and desire, and thrown by the way Edward's needs could sway my own common sense.

I could never see him again. I was pretty sure the feelings would never go away.

"God, I fucking trashed the best thing I ever had," Edward muttered, pushing my foot away, pushing his chair back from the table. With his anger, I saw just enough of the reason I needed to stay away. I sat up in my chair and pulled my feet underneath me. Edward looked immediately apologetic. Was it possible his moods could change even quicker than they had in the past?

"But I didn't break you, Bella. I'm grateful for that, at least. I can't tell you how grateful I am that I didn't break you."

"I'm stronger than you think," I offered quietly. I said it as much for Edward as I did to give myself courage.

"No, I think I knew better than you did - about your own strength."

There was one more thing on my to-do list. I took a deep breath. This part meant more to me than anything.

"Edward?"

"Yeah."

"I've never thanked you."

"Excuse me? _Thanked_ me?"

"For my first big break. Without you…"

"Without me you might have had a well-adjusted adolescence."

I laughed bitterly. "The cards were already stacked against me there. No, I just meant that without you… my writing, my career, my life would have been -"

"I didn't have anything to do with it, Bella. Some way, somehow, the world would have found you. You're filled with such brilliance, it's hard to ignore."

I didn't argue and I didn't elaborate. I didn't trust myself anymore. I was afraid that if I told Edward out loud how he'd awakened emotions that inspired my words, that he'd instilled the belief that life was there to be seized, and that it could be as big and amazing as you wanted it to be… I was afraid that if I said those things I'd finish my night in his arms. If I did that, I'd take myself full circle to ruin. I couldn't go through that pain again. Two times and I'd surely break. Edward said he didn't want that to happen.

"I should leave," I offered.

"You don't have to," he quickly replied.

"I do, Edward. I've said everything that I needed to say, and I'm glad we're finally able to end this civilly."

"End this?" he asked.

"It's been over for some time now, hasn't it?"

"No more mail," he replied, throwing some bills on the table.

"Thanks."

We walked through the bar in silence. Edward held my elbow. I concentrated on how it felt, on those last seconds: the sparks and the warmth, the funny feeling of home.

Our cars were waiting for us as we stepped outside.

"Have a good life, Bella Swan," Edward said, bending to kiss my cheek.

"I already am, Edward Cullen. You do the same."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"You guys ever wish you could just go back and change something?" Seth asks, regarding the picture of him and Jared on the beach together. I'd finally remembered to ask him about whether or not he's okay with me keeping it on display. His answer is ambiguous, to say the least.

"Me! I would! I would!" Rose playfully shouts, holding up her hand like she's a student in one of Seth's lectures.

"Ms. King?" Seth asks, going along with the charade.

"Ms. _Hale_," she corrects. "And that's exactly my point. Twenty years down the fucking drain. If I could, I'd wave my magic wand and do it all over. I would. I'd never have dumped Emmett and run back to Royce."

"Those years didn't just end up down the drain, Rose," I argue. "What about Julia and Sammy?"

"Julia and Sammy hate my guts," she snaps. "DNA's mysterious. Maybe I could have had Julia and Sammy with Emmett."

"DNA's not _that_ mysterious," I reply. "You can't sleep with Emmett and end up with Royce's kids."

Seth coughs. Rose narrows her eyes at me.

"They'd be different." I argue, but I'm losing my steam. I've stepped on toes.

"Don't you think there might have been a reason for it all?" I ask.

"What? Are you finding religion or something, Bella?" Rose asks. "Some, God's great plan crap-ola?"

"No, it's just that my life was… _my_ life. Mistakes and all. I feel like if I took away one unpleasant part, I would have lost a lot of good pieces too. I wouldn't do it over."

For instance: I wouldn't take back the fact that I walked away from Edward outside that bar in 1997. I wouldn't. Would I?

"Anything you'd _never_ take back?" Seth asks, nudging me, bringing me back to the conversation at hand.

"That's kind of the same question," Rose offers.

Seth and I lock eyes. "No, it's different," I counter. "And the answer is yes, of course."

"Besides the obvious," Seth says, rolling his eyes."We know you're not taking back the kiddo."

I know the answer immediately. There's one day I'd never take back, even given the consequences.

xXxXx

**September 9****th****, 1989 – Oh. My. God.**

I'd been caught in a sun shower on my way home from class, and after only five blocks, I was soaking wet. Edward was waiting in the kitchen with a smirk on his face.

"You're quite wet," he chuckled, looking me over from head to toe.

Not the wet thing again. Luckily, I'd gained a bit of confidence in the past two years. I dropped my backpack onto the kitchen floor, pulled my T-shirt over my head and threw it at Edward, my smirk matching his. I may have even raised an eyebrow.

"My pants are wet too," I mentioned offhandedly. "Like, wet all the way through."

I played with the button of my jeans. Edward bit his lip. "Bella, I…"

"And this afternoon I'm wide awake," I interrupted. I popped the button open and kicked off my sneakers.

Last night after hanging out with Malcolm McLaren, Lou Reed and Don DeLillo, after avoiding Iman like the plague because she made me feel like a small boy with too much hair, and after making out again in the back of Edward's car, we'd stumbled into the apartment at three a.m.

"You have class tomorrow," Edward had said, attempting to push me away.

"Class is tomorrow, I want you tonight," I'd argued.

"I don't want you falling asleep on me," he'd laughed as he kissed my ear.

"Not likely."

Edward knew all of my weaknesses, though. Or, at least he knew all about my weakness for him. He kissed me and peeled off my clothes as he backed me into my room, and then he pulled me onto the bed and wrapped his arms around me, and hummed his lullaby. I relaxed as Edward held me and ran his hands through my hair, whispering soft words: a stream of consciousness mixed with poems and lyrics and my name and love. After five minutes I was fast asleep.

xXxXx

"Wide awake and wet," I teased, shaking out my hair, trying to spray him with water. "And dying to get out of these clingy clothes."

I unzipped my fly, backed myself down the hallway, and ducked into Edward's room instead of my own. I'd hardly ever been in there before, but I'd seen the bed. It was big. And it was always unmade and piled with thick white down comforters and lots of pillows – I'd always imagined that laying there would be kind of like floating in the clouds. And, well, it would be harder for Edward to ignore me in his room than it would be in mine.

As determined as I was, though, I wasn't ready to lounge on Edward's bed, naked and waiting or anything. I wandered past piles of books, heaps of clothes, and black ashtrays filled with cigarette butts. I ignored the stereo system, since I'd never used a CD player in my life. And finally nervous and at a loss, I wandered into his bathroom and collapsed against the door.

Would he come after me? I hoped so. Would he have sex with me? I _really _hoped so. I mean, I was his girlfriend now, according to him.

I caught sight of my reflection between the vanity mirror and the one hanging on the door, so I turned around and surveyed the girlfriend in question. She was skinny and damp and flushed… and desperate to get laid. I unclasped my bra and shimmied out of my jeans. I couldn't tell if the effect was much better than clothed. I mean, Edward had probably been with girls that wore, I don't know, leather crotchless panties, or something. Before I could think better of it, I lost my blue cotton bikinis.

_Huh._ Me, naked.

Nope, I didn't trust myself to strut around Edward's room naked, but I wasn't putting the wet clothing back on, either. I pulled his bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door and wrapped it around myself, before venturing back into the bedroom.

I found him sitting on the edge of his bed in only his jeans, with his legs spread and his feet flat on the ground, resting his elbows on his knees. He'd followed me in like I'd hoped, but he wasn't excited or aroused, or anything; he looked worried.

I took a seat next to him.

"What?" I asked.

"Bella, I'm fucking lost," he said without looking up.

"No, you're not. You're here," I giggled nervously.

"I should buy a new house. Get you out of here, out of my head."

"Edward," I said, placing a hand on his knee.

He closed his eyes and placed a hand over mine, gripping my fingers tightly, like he was afraid I might disappear. "It's not a healthy place to be."

"Edward," I tried again, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"Jesus, Bella. You're not like anyone else. You know that?"

"Like a snowflake?" I laughed again.

He turned his head and rested his forehead against mine. His breath smelled of cigarettes. He held my face in the palm of his hand. "Like brilliance and goodness and innocence, all wrapped in the same fucking package."

"And you're hot," I giggled.

I miscalculated, though. Edward looked suddenly stricken.

"You're the most amazing person I've ever known, Edward," I amended.

"You're young, Bella."

"I'm old enough."

"You are," he said, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

Edward quickly rose to his feet and strode across the room, opening all of the blinds so that bright yellow sunlight streamed inside through the thin white curtains. Raindrops shimmered on the windowpanes. He pushed those open too, and cool fall air made me pull the robe tighter around my body.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I want lots of light for this," he said as he made his way back to me... and to his bed. Very slowly, he pulled my hands away and untied my bathrobe. Very gently, he pushed it from my shoulders.

I shivered under his intense gaze… and because it was really chilly.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" he asked, sinking to his knees in front of me.

"No," I laughed, honestly.

"_I _know. You're beautiful, Bella. Fucking lovely," he murmured as a hand cupped my breast. "Every line, every turn, every bend." His hands skimmed over my ribs, held my hips, and one drifted between my thighs.

"Everything," he said as his finger slipped inside me. He watched it disappear.

"Everything," he rasped as he licked his lips, pushed me backwards on the bed, and spread my legs wide.

My heart pounded as his finger rocked and dipped. His thumb found my clit, and then there were his lips: soft and warm and wet, sucking and nibbling and licking. I squirmed and tried to bring my legs together, but Edward wedged himself between my thighs and he lifted my hips to his lips, lifting me up into the sunshine and the breeze. With his hands and his mouth and a low hum, I gave into him gratefully, and it didn't take long before I quietly exploded in the light.

I giggled and pulled myself away from his mouth, relaxing on white down. I hummed as I felt soft kisses and stubble on my hip, up over my belly, between my breasts. I wrapped my legs around Edward as he pulled the robe out from underneath me. He folded me in his arms, and I laid naked on impossible softness in the sunshine.

I blinked slowly and saw flashes of the beautiful man holding me. I listened to the rustle of denim, and I knew he was kicking off his jeans. And then his lips were on mine and I tasted myself – salty and sweet. His chest was heavy and hard, and he was there. Right there. This was really happening.

I opened my eyes and smiled. I felt so incredibly lucky in that moment, and it was so important that I didn't forget a thing. I studied Edward's face carefully, hoping to remember every little detail: the stray freckles, the small scars, all of the little imperfections that made him real.

"Bella are you -" he began to ask.

"Are you kidding?" I interrupted, wrapping my arms around him, brushing his nose with mine. "I am. I _so _am."

"Do you love me?" he asked, and I think he surprised himself with the words.

I wouldn't say it with my lips, but my eyes… I'm sure he could figure it out.

Edward held my face in his hands. "My Bella," he murmured as he pushed against me. "My everything," he rasped as his eyelids fluttered. "Without you…" but he never told me what would happen without me. Neither of us cared at that point, because I was there, and so was he, and little by little he was inside of me.

Edward held me motionless for a second, or two, or three. Who was counting? I wasn't. I could hardly breathe, but I could see.

He was right about the light.

I was so glad I could see Edward clearly: his hands as they slid over my bare skin; his eyes, speaking volumes whenever they met mine; his lips, so full and kissable. I kissed them just to prove it.

With that, he moved and pushed my body deeper into the pillows as he pushed deeper inside. I wrapped my legs around to get closer, to get more of him, and lost myself in downy softness and the feel of his skin and our sweat. His fingers knotted in my hair, his breath came harder, and his head fell against my shoulder.

The strength his muscles had only hinted at up until that point came out when he fucked me, when he loved me. His hands wrapped under my arms and around my shoulders, pressing down as he pushed up, so he was in to the hilt, so I was caught in a vice, a _fucking_ vice. I gasped and screamed, because never, never… I didn't know, I didn't know. I closed my eyes as the warmth bubbled over, as the ache grew, as he breathed and grunted and kissed and bit. He bit me as he came.

He came.

Edward Cullen.

Edward.

"Edward," I murmured.

He was that rock star I'd seen commanding the stage in the rain, the guy I'd watched on countless videos on a VCR in a garage. He was also the man that liked to stay inside and read and play the piano. He liked really good food, and liked to prepare it himself, and he liked to write, and liked to be with me. He liked me.

"I like you," he murmured in my ear, and I giggled.

"I know," I whispered back.

"My little everything," he said with a kiss. "My beautiful little everything. I'm sorry in advance."

The things Edward whispered could always push me over the moon and make me sad and worried all at once. I chose the moon. I kissed him back and held him and smiled. He had nothing to be sorry for. He'd given me more than I knew I could have.

I opened my eyes and I was consumed by bright green vulnerability. So I gave him some space, and I let my eyes stray to the rest of Edward's body; his long arms and legs were tangled with mine, sparse reddish-brown hair covered his chest, leading to his cock, which was still wet with me.

"Can we do that again?" I asked. "Or was that a one-time deal?"

Edward laughed and pulled me on top of him. Another breeze blew through the windows, billowing the sheer curtains and bringing goosebumps to life on my skin. The sun shone behind me and fell onto Edward's face.

"Heaven," he murmured. "You almost make me believe in it."

His hands ran up my sides and over my breasts, up to the back of my head, through my messy hair. He grabbed a handful and shook my head playfully.

"I like it longer, like this," he said.

"I like you however," I replied, but then I remembered his little demonstration in my room not so long ago.

"No, I like you here," I said, placing my hands on his chest as I gazed down at him. "And here," I added, pulling one of his hands up and placing it over my breast. "And here," I mumbled, finding his penis and readjusting myself. I had only the vaguest idea about what I was doing, and his penis was only half-hard, but as Edward watched me fumbling with his dick, he grew right there in my hand.

With a little lift and some work with angles, I slipped onto him and… _oh my god_, it felt so different that way.

Edward pulled me down and kissed me.

"I wanted to make sure it wasn't just a one-time thing," I explained leaning my forehead against his. He laughed and bucked his hips and I almost jumped off his lap.

I tried bobbing up and down, but it was awkward and weird and I gave up, convinced I was incapable of being on top. But Edward placed his hands on my hips and he pulled me forward and back.

"Ohmygod." I mumbled, clutching his shoulders for support.

"Exactly," he whispered, pulling and twisting my nipple and then taking it into his mouth. "Oh my fucking god, Bella Swan. Oh. My. Fucking. God."

And I moved back and forth, and over, and over; his hand pulled my face to his, and we kissed. _ I_ fucked _him _slowly. My nipples grazed his chest, and he grabbed my ass, and his fingers ran in between my cheeks, and… I didn't know straight people did that kind of thing. Not that I minded. At all. After I got used to it.

"I want to fucking be inside you," he mumbled. "Like all of you, like fucking filling every part."

He kissed me deeper than he ever had before, and between his words and his tongue and his penis and his finger in my ass, I fell against his chest: a quivering, very happy, very ful_fill_ed mess.

Edward let me lay, and he ran a hand through my hair, but I could tell he needed more. His hips moved a little and I tried another pass back and forth, but I was tired and spent.

He rolled me off of him, so we were face to face on our sides, and he kissed me and ran his fingers up and down my spine. There were so many blankets and pillows in messy heaps all around us that it was like we were in the clouds – just like I'd imagined. Well, at the very least, I felt all floaty.

His penis slipped out, and I sighed. I was so tired, but I wanted him there, permanently, maybe. Edward left a long, lingering kiss on my lips, and then surprised me by climbing over me and pressing himself against my back.

"My little everything," he mumbled. "Open your eyes."

Without Edward in front of me I had a clear view of the bathroom. The door was open… the door with the mirror.

There I was, naked and exposed in the bright afternoon light, with pink cheeks and nipples, and two sets of puffy red lips. Edward's hand held my hip, and slid to my waist, before he cupped my breast and rolled my nipple between his fingers. I sighed and squirmed and closed my eyes.

"Watch," he breathed in my ear as he slipped inside me. I did just that. I opened my eyes and watched myself getting fucked on my side, from behind, by Edward Cullen.

I came, even though I didn't think I had enough energy for it. So did Edward, shuddering and gasping, and pinning my body against his.

"Do you see how beautiful you are now?" he asked.

I did. I really did.

xXxXx

"You have a thing for mirrors?" I asked a few minutes later as we were tangled around one another.

"I have a thing for you," he answered.

"A_ thing_?" I asked, tracing the outline of his jaw like I'd always wanted to, fitting my body against his, and surprising myself by finding comfort there along with the thrill. "What kind of _thing_?"

Edward's smile was spontaneous and boyish, and I noticed just a hint of redness spreading over his cheeks. He shrugged. "A big thing."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Well, the biggest I've ever had," I giggled.

He tickled me and tackled me, and he climbed on top of me and held me down and kissed me.

"And how many things have you ever had?" he laughed.

It was my turn to blush.

"Two. If you count today," I admitted.

"Jesus."

"What?"

"Thank you," he said with a kiss. "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked, confused.

"Fucking Christ. You're too good for me, Bella."

His next kiss was softer, and then his lips moved to my ear, and down my neck. Edward rained reverent kisses down on my body: the flair of my hip, the crease behind my knee, the arch of my foot. It wasn't foreplay, but afterplay, and I hummed and wriggled and loved. God, I loved.

After the kisses, Edward held me in his arms and told me more about himself; the real Edward, not the stage Edward Cullen, not the things you learned in papers and magazines.

He talked about how his father was emotionally unstable and too hard on him and his mom, how the three of them seemed so stuck in that madness all through his childhood, and the way he found an escape in writing and music.

We were very similar, the real Edward and I.

He told me that he felt damaged and dark because of it all, even so many years later. He explained how it influenced the man he'd become, and how he hated that about himself.

Edward said it was the reason he admired the light he saw in me.

"No, what you've done, what you've become -" I started to say.

"Shh," he said, covering his lips with mine. "Don't ever compare yourself to me." Then he silenced me with soft kisses, and I didn't argue.

Afterwards we were hungry and we raided the kitchen. I wore one of the T-shirts Edward had discarded on the floor, and he didn't wear a thing. The highest shelves in the kitchen were always out of my reach, and they were the ones with the cookies. I hopped onto the counter and climbed onto my knees, reaching for a box of macaroons.

Before I could grab them though, Edward came up behind me and lifted my T-shirt. He wrapped his hands around my body to palm my breasts and he kissed the dimples just above my bottom, and then he spread my legs, and suddenly I didn't care about cookies.

There were so many things I hadn't known. Lips could go where fingers wandered.

After a few torturous minutes, Edward lifted me off the counter and pushed himself inside me from behind. He took me like that, up against the kitchen counter, while I blinked into the blinding orange sunset, hoping for some macaroons.

xXxXx

No, I'd never wish away that afternoon, or the sex-filled days and nights that followed. I feel like we spent a whole month mostly naked. Well, sometimes I had to get dressed for class, but I quit my job, just like Edward had always wanted.

We'd go out too, from time to time, and we had to put on clothing for that. Edward had different industry events that he attended with more regularity after he started taking me along. It might just have been because of the limo rides. They were never exactly… chaste.

Those days I wrote more than I ever had before. I wrote about sensations and feelings and emotions, all wrapped up with a plot that went from point A to point B. It was like I'd burst through a protective barrier that had been holding it all inside. Words poured out of my fingers and onto the page. They were pretty, and poetic, and sometimes after reading I'd either search Edward out, or on the rare occasion he was gone, I'd use his finger and his scent to make myself cum.

Suddenly, situations from the past that had left me flat and empty came back to me, and I was filled with rage, and sadness and pain. Thoughts of my mother and her new BMW and the house she shared with her newest boyfriend made fire leap from my pen.

Then there were my old friends, Jake and Seth. The confusion and loneliness and insecurity those memories brought me had me holding myself and rocking and crying, and pouring out pain onto the page by the bucketful. I thought I'd handled it all so well. It turned out that after so many years of maternal neglect, I'd simply been numb to it all.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"Earth to Bella," Rose taunts, shaking me playfully. "You have to answer with words, not just with looks."

"Leave her alone, Rosie," Seth laughs. "The girl's having a private moment."

"Private, my ass. She's hanging out with friends. Private moments are for -"

"Bathrooms?" Seth cuts in, throwing a grape at me, joining in on the fun. "I know all about bathrooms from way back when."

"I bet that whatever she's not willing to give up involves Edward. It's written all over her bright red face."

"Wow, how'd you figure that one out, Sherlock?" Seth asks.

"It's private, okay?" I say, feeling a little shaky and exposed after my vivid memories.

"What, the size of his cock?" Rose asks. "You never did tell me."

"Or me," Seth jumps in. "I, um, always kind of wanted to know."

I pick up a grape and chuck it at Seth. I manage to hit him right in the eye.

"Ouch!"

"It's private," I insist, throwing another for good measure.

Rosalie laughs. "Like all the private stuff you two did when Emmett was driving you guys around?"

Seth accidentally spits a grape from his mouth. My jaw drops open.

"What?" Rosalie asks. "Did you think he was blind, deaf and dumb?"

I want to change the subject. I look to Seth for help. He smiles and shakes his head.

"There's one thing," he offers, suddenly serious. "One thing I'd take back."

"What?" I ask, wondering if he's finally ready to spill about Jared.

"I would've said good-bye, Bell. I'm still really sorry about that."

xXxXx

**June 20****th****, 1988 – Looking back, I really set myself up for this one.**

Seth didn't come back the night after the prom. Jake didn't come by either. For the first time in months, I spent the night alone in my house.

I tried to fill the time with college financial aid forms and housing lotteries. I tried to focus on leaving my messed up life behind and going to New York City and starting over. I willed myself to feel excited, but I was left empty and confused instead. I missed my friends desperately, but there was no way I was going to go looking for them.

No way.

I'd just been some weird go-between in their un-relationship. I was such an idiot.

Jake didn't pick me up like he usually did on weekday mornings, so I ended up taking the bus to school that last Monday of my senior year. I kept my head down, humiliated.

When neither of them showed up before homeroom, that's really when it hit me. That's when I realized how alone I was in the world, how unloved I was by my mom and dad, and my two best friends. I was last on all of their lists. I was either a complication or an excuse, or a combination of both.

It didn't help that the rest of the student body looked at me like I was an alien. I'd made a spectacle of myself at the prom. I'd thought I was going to be staring everyone down with my head held high, with Jake and Seth by my side. We'd be freaks, but proud of it. Nope. It turned out that a lone freak couldn't be proud; she was just a weirdo.

"Where are your boyfriends?" Angela had the nerve to ask outside the cafeteria. Well, maybe it wasn't exactly nervy. It was a perfectly valid question.

"They're sick," I said. I meant it, too. I was feeling mean.

"Herpes?" she asked.

"Go fuck yourself, Angela," I spat and kneed her in the twat, before marching off campus and leaving school behind. I never went back.

In retrospect, that knee to the box was a little harsh, but she'd had it coming for over a year. Not to mention that it probably saved Seth and Jake some pain down the line.

I skipped my shift at Newman's and bought the new Masens album, instead. I wandered the beach and listened for the differences between the cut Edward sent to me and the final version. Every change I'd suggested was there. It was surreal.

I lay down in the warm sand and convinced myself that Edward Cullen was the only person that valued me. I had the evidence on cassette tape. His letters to me were put to music. He was shouting and singing to me.

The next morning my dad shook me awake. It was alarming enough that I was shocked into instant consciousness.

"What is it?" I asked, expecting a fire or a hurricane, or some other kind of natural disaster.

"You're not at school, Bella," he said simply, settling in my desk chair.

"No, I'm not," I agreed. "What's the emergency?"

"It's eleven," he said.

"Huh," was all I offered.

"I haven't seen much of you lately," my dad said, rubbing his scruffy jaw.

"You've been too wasted," I replied simply.

My dad's bloodshot eyes dimmed. His hands were shaking. He took a look around my bedroom like he was seeing it for the first time in a while.

"The lawyer called, Bella."

"Yeah?"

"I'm giving in, Sugar. I don't give a shit anymore. You're going to school in the fall. August, right?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"I can't buy your mother out of this house. We're gonna have to sell, Sweetie."

"Oh."

"And I'm going to my mom's."

"Wait, what? In Forks?" I asked.

"I've got nothing here, Bella. Nothing but you. You can always visit at Nana's."

"In Forks, _Washington_? Like three thousand miles away?"

"I'm not good at this housework business," he chuckled. "Vacations and stuff, you could stay there, or with your mom, I guess."

"There's no way I'm staying with mom. Like, not ever."

My dad had no answer to that. Looking back, I understand what he was telling me: I was on my own. We both knew I had no way to get to Forks during school breaks, and chances were that I wouldn't even be allowed at my mom's.

I wasn't feeling up to the send-off.

"Um, Bella?"

My dad and I looked up to see Jake poised at my bedroom door. (Jake and Seth had given up knocking months ago.)

"Hey, there, uh…" my dad said, nearly tripping over his own feet as he stood up and regarded the tall boy in his hallway.

"Jake," my ex-gay-boyfriend offered, filling in the blank. Jake and I had only been dating for about a year. Leave it to my dad not to even know his name.

"Jake, right," my dad said, offering his hand.

"Uh, Dad… you, uh, think you could give me and Jake a little time alone?" I asked, scooting out of bed. Jake kind of looked like he wanted to deck my dad, and I pretty much wanted to deck Jake. Next thing you knew, we'd all end up on Jerry Springer.

My dad glanced between Jake and I. As barely sober as he was, he could still tell that something was off.

"I really need to talk to Jake, Daddy," I pled.

"Are you gonna put some clothes on first?" he asked, eyeing my tank top and panties.

"I don't really think it matters, Dad," I laughed.

"Put on some shorts, Sugar," he asked with a kiss to my forehead before he left Jake and I alone.

I marched past Jake and slammed the door.

"This better be good," I said folding my arms across my chest.

"You didn't say anything, did you?" Jake asked.

"Oh my god!" I shouted. I eyed his crotch, gearing up for a good kick.

"Seriously," he said. "Did you?"

"Hmm, did I tell people that my boyfriend and my best friend were gay together?" I wondered out loud. "Let me think."

"I'm not… _that,_" Jake spat.

"Like hell," I replied. "I was there, Jake. I was fucking there."

"Don't say I'm gay, Bella. Don't fucking say it," Jake commanded, taking a step in my direction.

"Oh, you're not gay? What in the hell are you, then?"

"I'm just fucked up, Bella. Really fucked up." Jake collapsed on the bed. The same bed we'd made out on. The same bed I slept with Seth in. Shit, I was fucked up too.

"Agreed," I said, sitting next to him.

"I'm sorry, Bella."

"The way you both… fucked with me. Sorry kind of doesn't cut it, you know?"

"I love you, Bella."

"Oh my god!" I punched his arm, nearly breaking my hand in the process. (Or it felt that way; it was probably just a bad sprain.) "Just shut the fuck up with the love already, Jake."

"But, I do. I swear, I do. I wasn't just saying it. I like you. Being with you. Like, all of it. You know?"

I sensed that Jake was checking out my pants-less situation, and covered myself with a sheet.

"And Seth?" I asked, struggling to understand.

"Fuck, Bella. I don't know."

"I mean, you guys did it, right?"

"I'm not fucking gay."

"And is Seth -"

"I don't know!" Jake shouted, and I jumped away, suddenly nervous. "Just stop asking questions, okay? I mean, I ship out for basic in like three weeks."

"I know that."

"I didn't want to leave it like…_ this_."

"Well, you totally did," I laughed bitterly. "Like _this_. Like cheating on me, like right there next to me!"

"I'm sorry," he said again. He reached out to place a hand on my leg, but I pulled it away from him. The tension between us ratcheted up about twenty notches. I scurried to the edge of the mattress.

"I didn't mean it like that," I said. "I'm just… angry. It's not like I don't want you to, because… God, I don't know what to think."

Jake dug is hand into his pocket, pulled out a roll of money and tossed it next to me on the bed.

"Dude, I'm not a whore!" I pushed the bills back in his direction.

"Jesus, Bella, no! It's from Seth. We cashed his last paycheck from the skate shop."

"What do you mean?"

"He's gone Bella. But he knew it was going to be hard around here without his money, so he thought -"

"What do you mean, he's gone? Where'd he go?"

"His parents, you… school. He couldn't do it. It's not like he had plans after graduation, so he left. I had graduation money from my grandma. I felt like I kind of had to let him have it, you know… after… me," he ended quietly.

"He's gone? He just left?"

"He felt like shit."

"You should _both_ feel like shit."

Jake glanced at me nervously, and I saw it all in his big, black eyes. He was angry and scared and embarrassed, and he felt very, very far from shitty, all at the same time.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"I get it now, Seth. It's okay," I say, tossing a grape at him in a much more friendly manner.

"Thanks, Bell," he replies, popping the grape into his mouth. Then, without warning, he dives across the table at me and starts pelting me with the little purple fruits as we wrestle and laugh. We stop under the scrutiny of Rosalie's incredulous glare.

"You know, sometimes I think you two are the real lovebirds in all of this, this… I don't know, this story, or whatever it is," Rose offers, looking between Seth and me.

I laugh and throw the next grape at Rose. She catches it effortlessly and tosses it into her mouth.

"No, seriously," she says, looking anything but serious. "You two should just, like, get married and live happily ever after."

"I can think of at least three very glaring reasons that's not going to work, Rosalie," Seth laughs.

"Cause you're gay?" she asks. "Whatever. How often do you think most married couples in America actually have sex? I'd say you and Bell probably fall somewhere under the curve."

"That's a trend I'd like to buck, Rose," I say, managing to bop her boob with a grape.

"Really, you'd finally fit in with the rest of us sexless wonders: me and Royce, Jake and his wife, Edward and what was her name?"

* * *

><p><strong>Eeeek! (Queue screams)<br>**

**There is a Light has been nominated for a couple Shimmer Awards. To go and check it out and vote, here's the link: ht tp : / / www . kwiksurveys . ?surveyID=NOOJIH_b9f578b4**

**My readers have been blowing my mind this week. Seriously, thanks for the reviews, and Tweets, and blog posts, and facebook discussions, and fan art, and I could go on forever!**

**I'm totally excited & a little nervous, cause troublefollows1070's joining teaser wars on facebook. Craziness is sure to ensue.  
><strong>

**There were questions I can actually answer this week! 1) Who's Rose? She's Bella's best friend from college. They're going to officially meet next week. 2) When is the "present day?" It's just before Christmastime in 2011. **

**There were lots of other questions too, but I'm not giving anything else away… because then reading this wouldn't be as _. (I'll let you fill in the blank.)**

**Until next time, xxx, M**


	11. Golden Lights

**A/N: At this point, Team TiaL is like my family, if my family knew about grammar, 80's alternative rock, and Twilight fanfiction.**

**Music: Golden Lights by Twinkle, covered by The Smiths in '86: ht tp : / / www . youtube . com/watch?v=vLub8oFBbUA (Don't watch, just listen, trust me.)**

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

"_Really, you'd finally fit in with the rest of us sexless wonders: me and Royce, Jake and his wife, Edward and what was her name?"_

Two sets of angry eyes stare across the room at Rose. She's known to speak her mind and shoot from the hip, but she's gone too far.

"You two even get offended the same," she says, shaking her head at Seth and me. "Oh, come on! It's not like it even matters an -"

"Enough, Rose," I say quietly and grab for Seth's hand.

Seth pulls away and excuses himself. I let him go. I understand the need for quiet grief.

"Sometimes you should try thinking before you speak, you know, Rose?" I hiss after Seth's left the room.

"It's been years, Bell. And it's not like they were even -"

The stern look I shoot at Rosalie finally silences her.

"Time has nothing to do with the heart, Rose. You, of all people, should understand that."

Rosalie sits back and blinks. She bites her plump, cherry-red lip. I've touched a nerve and I'm glad. Seth, Rose and I have all been there; we all know the truth in matters of the heart.

The heart doesn't measure movement the way a clock does. It doesn't observe the spinning of the earth on its axis, or our planet's rotation around the sun. It goes on blindly beating, infinitely feeling. The heart is animated by electric energy; and even though it's just the size of our fist, it has enough strength to bring the rest of our body to life.

When we die, the heart's electricity leaves the body in the form of heat. It's true; it's been observed and measured. I did quite a bit of research on this phenomenon for my third novel. The heart's energy never dies; it goes on forever.

"I can be a shitty friend, sometimes," Rosalie says, as her eyes settle on the empty spot where Seth was sitting next to me.

"Give him some time. Then apologize. Seth knows that -"

I let my voice trail off when I hear the soft patter of little feet padding down the hallway. My daughter peeks around the corner.

"Little One?" I ask.

"Hi, Mommy. Hi, Rosie," she squeaks.

"What're you doing, Kiddo?" Rose asks and the corners of her mouth tug upwards, hinting at a smile. My daughter has that effect on people; she can light up a room. I think she's magical, but I'm biased.

"I have pictures," she says quietly. "I drew one for everyone that's going to see me dance on the big stage." She pulls out a stack of construction paper from behind her back.

"You were supposed to be in bed, Honey," I admonish.

"I'm too excited, Mommy. It's getting _so_ much closer."

I can't help but silently agree. One day inevitably follows the next. I understand how nerve wracking it can be.

"Did you make one for me?" Rose asks, scooting to the edge of her seat.

"Of course," my daughter says with a confident nod of her head. "And for your new boyfriend, too."

"Emmett?" Now Rose is really smiling. I notice Seth leaning against the doorjamb out of the corner of my eye. He's looking happier as well. I'm glad.

"For everyone," she proudly assures us all.

I eye the stack of pictures. I wonder what she's drawn.

"So, I can't sleep, Mommy. Not even with the song," she sighs.

Seth clears his throat.

"What song?" Rose wonders out loud.

My daughter's eyes light up. "Do you know The Masens, Rosie?"

My heart thumps. Seth coughs. I notice he's found a beer. God, I could use a beer.

"Do _you_ know The Masens, Kiddo?" Rose replies.

My daughter nods gravely. "I know _all_ about them."

"Come on, then. Let's get you settled back in your room and you can tell me what you know," Rose says, standing up and offering my daughter her hand. I watch them chatting as they retreat down the hallway.

"Do you know The Masens?" Seth chuckles. "History repeating itself, or something, right in your own living room." He takes a long swig of his beer and reclaims his seat.

"No!" I insist a little too vehemently, surprising myself. It's always been extremely important to me that my daughter should never live through the same things I was forced to live through. I hope I'm not paving the way with my storytelling.

"Bella?" Seth asks taking a seat. "What's up? _I'm_ supposed to be the pissy one at the moment."

"Just don't say that, Seth. History can't repeat itself, okay? I know it's an overreaction, but she can never go through all the hell that I…

"Shh, Bell. She'll never," he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Don't you know how many people would step in before any of that happened?"

I nod my head and reach for his beer. He lets me share.

xXxXx

**Summer 1988 – Not the best time to be me.**

Here's the thing: Sure, I was angry, but after Seth left, Jake and I only had each other. I couldn't ignore him. It would have hurt too much. We spent his last three weeks on Long Island together, like we had for much of our friendship. We talked on the beach at night. We held hands. We listened to The Masens. We concentrated on the things we loved about one another instead of the elephant in the room.

Yes, we did, we loved; I know it now.

July fourth was Jake's last night home. He borrowed his parent's rowboat and we took it onto the bay and dug for clams and mussels out on the sandbars. Later, we lay in the bottom of the boat eating steamers, drinking my dad's bad liquor and listening to The Masens as fireworks exploded over our heads and embers fell in the salty water that surrounded us.

"You sure about this, Jake?" I asked, my fingers finding his.

"We're kind of close to it all, but I don't think they'll hit us."

"That's not what I meant," I said, giving him a playful punch.

"I've wanted to fly fighters since I was five. I'm _this_ close, Bell. I'm sure about it."

"But… _you know_," I hedged.

Jake pulled his hand from mine.

"What changes if I stay home?" he asked. "I wouldn't change, not how I… I'd just have nothing instead of a career."

"But -"

"I'm going, Bell!" he interrupted, his ever-present anger brimming to the surface. "I decided a long time ago. Nothing's stopping me, okay? Not… anything."

Red and purple lights exploded over our heads. I took a swig of bourbon and it burned its way down my throat.

"Fireworks are so innocent," I decided. "Like the feeling of being a happy kid."

"I kind of think they're like sex," Jake countered.

Well, I certainly hadn't seen fireworks when I was with Jake. I wondered for a second about sex between Jake and Seth, but then I pushed the thought out of my mind.

"I'm going to miss you," I admitted.

"I'll miss you too, you know," Jake said, turning on his side and gazing into my eyes. They were black and bloodshot and I saw the fireworks reflected there. Exploding.

"I'm still angry," I warned.

"You should be," he said as his lips closed over mine.

I clung to Jake a little more than I usually did in the bottom of that boat. I put a little more passion into my kiss. Jake could have taken that to his advantage, but instead, he understood. He pulled away. He whispered that he loved me as my eyes filled with tears.

"You're going to be fine, Bella," he assured me. "You're leaving. You're going to school. You're gonna do better than all of us. Just wait."

xXxXx

**July 11****th****, 1988**

**Dear Edward,**

**Your album is all I have this summer. Luckily for me, it's everywhere. The kids play it at the beach. I hear it on local radio stations. It's piped in over the sound system at the mall. Suddenly, what I thought I saw hiding just under the surface of your other albums is out there for everyone to see. This one pushed aside all of the darkness and it celebrates how happy you can be when you've known real pain.**

**That's what I keep reminding myself. It helps me every day. **

**Thanks.**

**Bella**

xXxXx**  
><strong>

**July 29****th****, 1988**

**Bella,**

**Commercial success - who would have thought? This past year has been full of surprises, though, the most significant among them being you. I'll be on the road promoting this insanity for the foreseeable future. I may not have a chance to write much. Trust that you will be on my mind.**

**Edward**

And that was it… No Seth, no Jake, no Edward. No one was there to catch me when I received the letter about my financial aid package from NYU. No one was sober enough to walk me through the vagaries of the process.

I didn't even have a phone.

I made the long distance call at Newman's, hoping they wouldn't get the bill until after I left for school.

"I'm confused," I said in a small voice, holding the printout in my hand. "Tuition assistance doesn't cover everything?"

"_Your financial aid package, combined with your scholarship, will completely cover the cost of tuition, Ms. Swan."_

"But what about that six thousand dollars -"

"_That's the cost of room and board,_" the woman on the other end cut in. "_You'll notice it's in the column listed under 'family contribution'."_

"My family's contribution?" I asked. The words didn't compute.

"_That is the portion of your educational expenses that your family is expected to pay."_

"My family can't pay for any educational expenses," I explained, trying not to let myself get frantic.

"_According to their latest tax filings, they can."_

"They can't. They just… _won't_. Isn't there anything else?"

"_You've received the maximum in aid, Ms. Swan. Luckily, though, I see that you live on Long Island. We have many students that commute from home."_

Right, they commuted from a home – exactly.

"_Do you have any additional questions, Ms. Swan_?" the woman asked impatiently.

I couldn't think of a single one. "No."

"_We look forward to having you here in the fall."_

I took that information and filed it away for another day. There was nothing to be done. I'd only applied to one school and I wasn't about to give up everything and follow my father to Forks. I was going to NYU.

I worked my ass off that summer. I took extra shifts and cut back on groceries to save every penny that I could. I avoided the jocks that seemed to flock to Newman's just to make fun of me.

"_Where're your boyfriends, you freak?"_

"_Check it out, it's the black widow. She fucks 'em and kills 'em and makes 'em disappear."_

Mr. Newman let me spend as much time as possible in the stockroom.

When I'd come home after a long day of that madness, I'd go to work packing my life up in boxes, and I'd smile when potential buyers walked through the house. They talked in hushed tones about how much it would cost to demolish everything, and about replacing the shifting sandy soil in the yard with good, solid fill. It was inevitable that a buyer would come along sooner rather than later. No matter the state of our home, the beach wasn't going anywhere.

My dad didn't seem to notice that I only took one large backpack with me to college. When he dropped my off at the train station that morning in late August 1988, he kissed me and hugged me and told me that he was proud… and he slipped me sixty dollars. I offered him a weak smile. I'd only need five thousand one hundred and twenty more dollars to score a dorm room.

My worry evaporated, though, as I stepped into my first class at NYU. I'd dreamed about sitting in college lecture halls for years: the other kids looking all studious and self-assured, the ornate architecture, the semi-circle of desks, and the lectern at the front. I felt like I was in one of my own dreams. It was real, though. I pinched myself just to make sure. I'd made it, and I never had to go back.

"Hey, you know The Masens?" a smiley blonde stopped in front of me to ask. She was tall and pierced and had enormous boobs – kind of like a punk rock Barbie doll.

"Uh," I hedged. Did I know The Masens? I didn't know where to begin.

"Your concert T," she said, nodding at my chest. "I've got that one too. He looks so hot in that picture. And that last album… oh my god!" she gushed. "I saw them in San Francisco a couple years ago. I _love_ them."

"Um, yeah. Me too." Them. Him. There was love involved, for sure.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked, and before I could answer she plopped down next to me.

I've been friends with Rosalie Hale ever since. She was a couple years ahead of me, but with my A.P. classes and her laid back approach to higher education, we shared more than a few courses that semester - and over the next couple years. We spent the rest of my first day of college together walking through the village, hanging out in the park, browsing in vintage stores.

I told Rose about the prom and she decided that I was the coolest chick, ever. She filled me in about her boyfriend and the things they did together in bed. I told her that was the most I'd ever heard about anyone's sex life, ever.

At the end of the day, Rose went back to her dorm room and I went off to my supposed 'commute'. In reality, I headed for the library. It had been on my mind ever since the first time I'd been there. I wandered through the stacks. I checked out books I'd wanted to read forever, but never had a chance.

I didn't necessarily intend to stay there that night, but it was quiet and warm, and on a whim I hid in a bathroom stall when they announced they were closing. I slept snuggled up to a microfiche machine. The solution to my non-existent commuting was almost too easy – if the concept of easy included going without a pillow or a bed or a home.

No, I didn't tell Rose. She came from a family of bankers and financiers. She had everything she could wish for, including a boyfriend that liked to go down on her in the shower. It was easier to pretend that I commuted from a home, than to mix my misfortune with our friendship.

In the meantime, I found a data entry job and I saved my money. I hoped and planned to have enough to cover a dorm room by spring semester. When I could, I'd steal from the dining halls. Otherwise, individually wrapped snack cakes and bananas were my friends, along with that awful fifty-cent coffee sidewalk vendors sold.

"You're never going to believe it!" Rose whispered one afternoon when she slid into the seat next to me in our Victorian Lit. lecture.

"Let me think… you _didn't_ have sex with Royce last night?" I teased. Based on her continuous commentary, that would be truly unbelievable.

"Please! Of course we did. In the girls bathroom, too!"

I winced, glad for once that I had nothing to do with dorm life.

"I'm talking about The Masens," she continued excitedly, bopping in her seat. "They're playing a surprise show tonight at Roseland!"

"What?"

"Roseland. The Masens. Tonight!" she repeated.

"But they're on the road," I argued.

"Nuh uh. They're here. And guess who called her dad and pulled some strings and scored two tickets?"

"No!" I shouted. People in the lecture hall turned and stared. I didn't care.

Rose nodded, a big smile taking over her pretty face. "Yep," she whispered dramatically. "Yep, yep, yep!"

"This better not be a joke, Rosalie Hale!"

"You'll come?" Rose asked.

"Are you kidding? Oh my God, you better not be kidding! I'll kill you if you're kidding!"

She wasn't kidding, which was good. I didn't want to have to kill my only friend.

Six hours later I was packed into The Roseland Ballroom with a couple thousand other kids. Rose grasped my hand and squealed with every change in the lighting, and she jumped up and down every time a roadie marched across the stage. I was having a hard time breathing, so I kept movement to a minimum.

"Bella, come on! Aren't you excited?" she asked.

"Um, yeah," I breathed. It had been about two months since I'd last heard from Edward. I hadn't seen him since our shared limo ride over a year ago. Excited didn't cover it.

In fact I'd just decided to come clean with Rose and tell her that I'd met Edward Cullen face-to-face, when the lights went down for real. A deafening roar went up from the crowd and Rose practically pulled my arm off as she jumped up and down and threw her hands over her head.

I didn't care. She could take the arm. Because, there he was, walking out onto the stage, looking angry and like he didn't give a shit. Edward stopped in front of the mic and ran a hand through his messy hair. I couldn't help but noticing that it was different; it looked like someone randomly hacked away at it with garden sheers. I loved it.

I loved him.

I knew him.

I felt faint. I held onto the wall next to me to keep myself standing as I took it all in.

Edward was thinner, and tanner, and… angrier. People tossed random crap onto the stage: flowers and T-shirts and letters and things. He kicked it all back into the audience, like he was kicking in someone's head.

"You fucking came," he growled into the mic.

People cheered and rushed towards him and bouncers threw everyone back into the audience.

"He's so goddamned hot," Rose hissed in my ear.

"I know," I said without taking my eyes off of Edward. '_My Edward_', I thought to myself. That was the guy that wrote me letters. He was so breathtaking, and so angry, and so… grown up. _Wow._

"You want to hear something?" he asked the crowd.

Audience members screamed out the names of songs from the last album. I simply whispered yes. I'd listen to anything that came out of his mouth.

As if he'd heard my thoughts, Edward screamed into the mic – and it was a loud, ferocious, unintelligible sound that sent piercing feedback over the loud speakers. People held their hands over their ears, but I basked in his madness.

The rest of the Masens were noticeably restless, though. I saw Caius whisper something in Marcus' ear. Jasper randomly kicked at the bass drum. Tension mounted, rolling off the stage, finding it's way into the crowd.

"What if I fucking screamed all night?" Edward Cullen asked us.

The answering cheer was a little more uncertain that time around.

The rest of the band had other plans, though. They weren't there to stand around while Edward screamed. They started in without him. The first bars of the newest single from that latest Masens album swelled through the air and the crowd went wild. Kids danced and cheered, and Rose wrapped her arm around me and swayed.

Edward was the only person in the whole place that didn't seem pleased. He reluctantly joined in, alternately growling and roaring the lyrics. My chest hurt as I listened to him, and I closed my eyes and said a little prayer for his pain. With the next song, Edward seemed to pull himself together, and I watched his face closely, looking for the hints of joy that were hidden in the lyrics. I watched how he lost himself in those lines, and I was pleased.

Someone knocked into Rose and me from behind, a jarring reminder that I was just one small, skinny homeless girl in the middle of a mass of chanting and screaming fans. Suddenly, it seemed impossible that I was the person Edward Cullen had chosen to write letters to, that I was the one that had helped him craft these lyrics.

There were so many taller and better-looking people to choose from.

But it was real. Wasn't it?

I watched Edward shouting the lyrics for all he was worth, and I smiled. I knew those lyrics. I'd seen them written in Edward's handwriting. He couldn't have written to everyone in the audience. He wrote to me. He did.

"He wrote to me," I shouted in Rosalie's ear.

"What?" she asked.

"We wrote letters. Before I moved."

My friend gave me a crazy look, shook her head and went back to singing and jumping in time with the music.

I gave up. Really, who would believe me? I hardly believed it myself. Not to mention that those letters were private. I was pretty certain Edward didn't read them out loud to his friends, so I wouldn't share them either. Anyway, Edward was clearly enjoying himself by now, so I would as well.

I watched his body as he sang, his muscles as they strained, I watched his sweat and his spit. My heart beat harder as I imagined that amazing human being sitting down at a desk, writing me a letter and sealing the envelope with the same spit that was spraying from his mouth as he screamed.

"Come on," Rosalie said, tugging my arm and knocking me out of my reverie.

"What?" I asked.

"We need to get there before everyone else," she said, pulling me toward the back of the ballroom.

"Rose, wait! They're not done. They haven't even -"

"Trust me, Bella!" she shouted. "I know what I'm doing. We can get closer to them than this."

I wasn't opposed to getting closer, so I followed Rosalie outside and down the block. She chattered on about the show and I quietly hoped she knew what she was doing. She took us around a corner, and then down an alley between buildings. There were a few kids milling around, a couple guys in black near an unmarked door and lots of trash.

"What is this?" I asked.

"They're going to come out right over there," she said, pointing at the door.

"You think so?" I asked.

"I know so, Bella. I've done this before."

So we waited. The temperature started to drop and I realized I was going to miss lights out at the library. I wondered if Rose and Royce could cool it for a night so I could sleep in her room. More kids began filling the alley and hanging out like they just happened to be there at one a.m. with nothing better to do. Rose kept me close.

Suddenly, things happened all at once. Barricades came out of nowhere, pressing everyone back at the same time that the crowd coalesced to push towards that nondescript door. Bouncers flooded the alley and held the barricade in place. People pushed past me and I almost lost my balance, but I was suddenly pressed in so tightly that the crowd kept me on my feet.

One by one I caught glimpses of the Masens as they walked by. Girls thrust pieces of paper past me, begging for autographs and shouting their names.

Then a hush came over the crowd, followed by one shrill scream – a sentinel cry, perhaps. Everyone surged against the barricade in unison - a wave of adoration.

"Edward!" someone yelled. That was all it took. The crowd began screaming and pushing and jumping with renewed vigor.

"Do you see him?" I shouted at Rose.

"Just the top of his head," she replied as she stood on tiptoe and towered over me. "He's coming, Bella! He's coming!"

I tried to wriggle my way to the front of the crowd in time to catch him. I used my elbows. I stepped on toes. I'd just managed to grab hold of the barricade when he walked quickly by with his head held down. He was close enough for me to see the scruff on his jaw, but he was impossibly far away, all at the same time.

"Edward?" I asked, hanging onto the barricade, trying not to get trampled.

Amazingly, he stopped walking. His lips twitched. Girls around me squealed and reached for him.

"Edward?" I asked again. It seemed impossible that he'd hear me over all the commotion, but he looked. He turned and his eyes caught mine, and I sighed and died inside. He smiled. Girls swooned.

Suddenly Emmett was there, protecting Edward from the crowd. Edward tugged on Emmett's arm, whispered something in his ear and hurried on. Before I even had the chance to feel sorry that he was gone, Emmett reached over the barricade and pushed everyone out of my way.

Suddenly I was face to face with Edward's bodyguard's big, boyish smile, and his large hands encircled my waist. Without a word, he picked me up off the ground and swung me over the barricade.

"You okay with this arrangement, Trouble?" he asked me, placing me back down on the ground next to him.

I nodded as I scanned the crowd looking for Rosalie. She was arguing with two of the bouncers and pointing in my direction.

"Alright then, kiddo," Emmett said, and I couldn't help but think he sounded a little sad. He wrapped his strong arm around me and quickly ushered me past the crowd to a big, black sedan that was waiting in the alley.

"I'm gonna be back in just a few minutes, so keep your shirt on for me, okay?" he asked.

"What?"

Instead of answering, Emmett opened the car door, and there was Edward, literally on the edge of his seat. He held his hand out for me and practically pulled me into the back of the car. I stumbled and nearly hit my head, and before I knew it, the door was closed securely behind me.

Inside, the car was dark and cool, and the air felt electrified. I buzzed. The air crackled. The interior was lit with little blue lights at our feet… and Edward's bright emerald eyes. I held my breath.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he demanded, taking me by complete surprise.

"Excuse me?" I stammered.

"My last three letters were returned. I sent Emmett to your house and it was empty! Empty, Bella!"

"You sent Emmett… to my house?"

Edward's eyes looked frantic as they roamed over my body. I remembered Emmett's warning about my shirt and I wrapped my hands around my waist.

"Do you eat?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"You're skin and bones. Kids… girls… are supposed to grow. Not shrink."

"I, uh…"

Edward was still looking me over, and try as I might, I couldn't read him for the life of me. He was strung like a live wire, tense and… something else I couldn't put my finger on.

"I thought you were away," I tried to explain. "My friend Rose told me about the show, and I almost didn't believe it because you wrote and said -"

"I needed to get back to New York," he interrupted. "I needed -"

The driver's side door opened and Emmett plopped into his seat.

"For fuck's sake," Edward scowled, pushing himself backwards and banging his head against the headrest.

Emmett glanced in the rearview mirror. "Clothing. Nice work," he said, winking at me.

Edward began tapping his foot impatiently on the ground.

"So, Daisy's?" Emmett asked.

"I don't think so," Edward barked in reply, closing his eyes, rubbing his temples.

"But Edward, they're expecting -"

"I don't think so!"

I jumped. Emmett sighed. "A drive, then?" he asked, resigned.

Edward blinked and gazed across the back seat at me; his eyes stalled somewhere below my face. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself a little tighter.

"Fuck," Edward mumbled.

"Edward?" Emmett asked, starting up the car. "Directions, man. I need directions."

"Eleazar," Edward barked, never taking his eyes off me.

"What?" Emmett asked.

"She needs food. _Eleazar_."

"I thought that was tomo -"

"E. Leaz. Ar! I'm being quite clear."

The divider rose and the last thing I saw was Emmett's reassuring smile. Honestly, I was glad he was there. Edward was… frightening, in a word. Sure, he was famous and hot and sitting right next to me, but he didn't seem like the same man that had written those intimate and insightful letters.

"I should be glad," he said as he turned and stared out his window. "I wanted you and you're here."

"What's Eleazar?" I asked.

"Where have you been?"

"Um, at school. At NYU."

"You should have told me, Bella. An address. Something. A fucking hint. To fucking run away and hide…"

"Sorry," I squeaked.

"It's irrational, of course," he seemed to say just to himself, shaking his head. "I'm nothing to you. You don't have to apologize."

"Nothing?" I asked, confused - because I'd spent most of the last three months thinking that Edward was the only person in the world that really mattered.

"Fucking nothing," he growled, and it was like a slap across the face.

"Don't say that," I begged, reaching across the seat to grab his hand.

My fingers touched his and this time Edward was the one to jump.

"Your letters make me sane," I tried to explain.

Edward laughed out loud and his fingers clutched at mine. I leaned against the seat and tried not to faint.

"Are you insane, Bella?" he asked, still staring intently out the window.

"Sometimes I think so. Most of Mastic Beach probably thinks so."

Finally he turned. Finally his eyes met mine. I had to remind myself not to lunge across the seat – that would surely be in bad taste.

"You didn't answer me about eating," he said quietly. Again, his eyes roamed. I pressed my thighs together. I ached.

"I eat. I… budget, though," I said quietly, completely embarrassed.

"You budget… with food?"

I nodded.

"No budget tonight, Bella."

The car slowed to a stop, and Emmett ushered Edward and I through yet another alley. The busboys smoking out back startled when they saw the three of us, and one ran quickly inside.

"Mr. Cullen?" a tall, dark-skinned man in a suit asked, meeting us by the back entrance. "Tonight? I though you'd be by tomor -"

"Do you have a table, Eleazar?" Edward asked.

"For you? Of course."

The restaurant was small and dark with secluded booths built into the oddly shaped little nooks and crannies and twists and turns of the interior. It was like a posh little maze that I could entirely imagine getting lost in. Once we were seated, Edward ordered about a month's worth of food without even looking at a menu… and a Tanqueray and a Coke. He didn't ask. He just ordered.

Finally, when our server left, Edward turned to me and smiled. His mood had lifted. My heart fluttered. His hand sought mine again, and I died a little inside.

"You," he murmured. "I was worried I'd never see you again."

"Really?" I think I whispered. I couldn't be certain about anything but his presence at that point in time.

"You were at the show?" he asked.

"You were so angry."

"_So_ fucking angry," he laughed. "You have no idea."

"I have an idea. I saw it," I giggled.

"Trust your eyes to always cut through the crap and see the truth."

"And now you're here?" I asked stupidly. He was obviously there.

"For two days, then Europe or Asia or something."

"Wow."

"Yep," Edward agreed raising his eyebrows and taking a sip of the drink the server slid in front of him.

"Emmett thinks you're going to molest me," I blurted out

Edward promptly spit his drink across the table. A server appeared to set things right and dry Edward's spit.

"Emmett thinks I'm an asshole. He might just be right. But, rest assured, you're safe from molestation, Bella. I'd never…"

I probably should have felt relieved to hear that, considering Edward was about four years younger than my own father. I wasn't, though. The idea that he'd never consider… _that_, with me, made me feel a little desperate.

Edward didn't look entirely pleased, either. He glanced away from me, dropped my hand and took a long sip from his glass. I eyed my beverage askance.

"Coke?" I asked him.

"I can't have you drinking water. You need the sugar… the calories."

"Excuse me?" I asked.

I watched Edward clench his jaw. The muscles in his hand became so tense I was actually afraid he might break the glass he was holding, like the Hulk or some other superhero.

"Are you starving yourself?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"No!" Was I starving? I didn't think I was starving. I was hungry from time to time, but no more than I'd been this past year back at home. "But I'm, uh, _jealous_. You're drinking, and I've got this." I pushed my cola in front of his face.

"You can't drink, Bella."

"I'm pretty sure I can."

"You shouldn't."

"You're not my father."

"Does your father know how thin you are? Does your father know you think you can drink?"

"I don't know."

"I wouldn't mind having a word or two with your father."

I couldn't help laughing as I imagined that scenario. Edward would pull up in his limo outside my grandmother's house in Forks, Washington and Emmett would get out and open the door for him. I held my sides as I giggled.

"It's not funny, Bella! You were living with a boy, and drinking, and you're so skinny that I can practically see through you."

"Not to mention that I have a tendency to climb into cars with strange men that might molest me," I added.

"Precisely."

That stopped my laughter cold. Did he want to molest me? He said he didn't but…

"I worry," he said quietly.

"Why?"

He didn't answer, though. Our food was served, giving him an excuse to fall silent. I stared at the feast in front of me – the table was covered with upscale versions of standard American faire: macaroni and cheese, little burgers, meatloaf. Edward had ordered heavy, fattening things, and more than I could eat in three weeks.

"Eat. Make me feel better. I'll lay the fuck off your weight," he said pushing a plate in my direction.

I was hungry, so I followed Edward's orders, and true to his promise, he stopped acting like some weird, sexy dad. We talked about the album and it's success, and the changes it brought about in his life.

"Does it bum you out?" I asked, in between bites of the most delicious mac and cheese I'd ever eaten.

"What?" Edward asked.

"You know, I don't know… your songs are, like, on Long Island radio. That's different."

"Fuck if I care. If I went after this shit for the popularity, well, that would suck balls. But doing something I fucking love, something that I poured so much of… myself into, something so… different." His eyes met mine, my fork clattered on my plate. "I don't fucking care who listens, Bella. I get to perform that shit – sing it – get paid for it. It's fucking golden."

Neither of us said it, but I was pretty sure that I knew what Edward was trying to tell me. I'd done it too – I was part of that golden stuff he was talking about. He loved that album, at least partially, because of me.

"Where should I have Emmett drop you off?" Edward asked, taking my hand and leading me out of the restaurant after we were done with our meal.

I had nowhere to go, though. The library had been closed for hours. I'd need to stop at a pay phone and call Rose to get into her dorm, and that would look… _odd_. I didn't know what to say.

Edward stopped outside of the restaurant and took my other hand. For a second he looked young and vulnerable, and I had to hold myself back from going up on tiptoe and kissing him.

"Do you want me to leave you alone, Bella? I can leave you alone. I can. I think."

"No! I, uh… it's just -"

"Christ, Bella. What is it?"

"I live in the library," I mumbled, looking at my feet.

"Excuse me?"

"I stay… in the library," I said a little louder. "But it's closed now. I, uh… could maybe stay with Rose if I gave her a call first. There's security at the dorms and I can't just walk in. Not to mention that she's got this boyfriend and -"

"The library!" he thundered, and his voice echoed in the alley.

"By the microfiche," I explained.

"What the fuck is microfiche?"

"People use it for research and stuff."

Edward shook his head. Emmett appeared from around a corner, and he flicked a cigarette butt into a dumpster.

"Edward, Trouble," he said rushing to his station, holding the car door open for us. "Where to?"

"Take us home, Em," Edward said steadily. He slipped his hand against my lower back and pushed, indicating that I should climb in first.

"Where's Trouble's home?" Emmett asked.

"Take us _home_, Emmett," Edward repeated. I felt his rising frustration in the pressure of his hand and the tenor of his voice.

"What?" Emmett asked.

"You heard, me. Bella and I are going home. _My_ home. Do I need to call a cab to make that happen? Or are you going to do your job and drive?"

Emmett clicked his heels together and shook his head. "You sure, Trouble?" he asked me.

I nodded my head as I climbed into the back of the car.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"What about not taking anything back?" Seth asks, taking back his beer to drive his point home. "She's going to make mistakes. She's going to do things, stupid things. You can't protect her from everything, Bell."

"I know."

"It's all part of being a parent."

I lean against Seth's shoulder. "The whole 'do as I say, not as I do' thing, though," I try to explain.

"What are you worried about, Bell? That she's going to have a torrid affair with two gay dudes? That she's going to live in a library to pursue higher education?"

"Jake wasn't gay," I say. Seth playfully pushes me away.

"Not gay my ass," he mutters.

"Exactly," I say, cocking and eyebrow. We're in danger of another wrestling match, but I don't want to lose my train of thought.

"I'm worried that she's going to fall in love with a much older man and have her heart ripped out," I admit.

"And I repeat, would you take it back, Bell?" Seth asks, nudging me.

I sigh. "No. Never."

xXxXx

**September 30, 1989 – What a difference a year makes.**

Edward never slept with me. Don't get me wrong, he slept with me, as in the sex-kind of sleeping with me. He _really _slept with me that way, all the time: in the hall, against the wall, in the library, on the countertops. He was kind of insatiable. I can't say that I wasn't either. And one of the things about rock stars: they have the resources to go the extra mile and make your dreams come true.

This one time, a few weeks in, I was lying in his arms after sex, and staring out the window at the turquoise sky.

"I'd like to do it totally in the sunshine," I whispered. "Like, outside, but with no one watching."

Watch how fast a rock star will comply and have a screened-in enclosure with a retractable roof built on his rooftop patio: pretty damn quickly. So, yeah, he slept with me outside, on the roof, too.

But, back to sleep-sleep, true sleep, if you will. At first I never saw him sleep… at least, not with me.

The morning after we'd first had sex I was confused as I stumbled out of my bedroom in just a pair of panties, rubbing the crust from my eyes.

"Where'd you go?" I ask sleepily, finding Edward in the kitchen.

But then I learned about sex and breakfast, and the way Edward had of combining the two. It turned out that he had a thing for morning sex and the kitchen. I forgot all about my question after he sat me on the table, pulled off my panties, and half held me and half balanced my bottom on the table as he slowly fucked me.

Then he fed me a fruit salad. You guessed it – berries. To this day I still think it's the sexiest fruit around, in my humble opinion.

Edward and I became a cliché. We were that bohemian couple that walked around half naked, writing and composing and eating croissants. We fucked through the days and the nights, and sometimes, even in bed.

And one morning as we were lying naked on top of scattered sheet music and notebook papers filled with my messy writing, Edward pulled me on top of him and pushed the hair from my eyes. He looked suddenly, completely serious.

"I have to ask you something, Bella."

"What is it?" I asked as I settled myself on top of him, ready for another round.

"Today's my mother's birthday."

"Oh. Wow. Really?"

"Really."

Edward wrapped his arms around me, pulling my face closer to his.

"Are you going to see her?" I asked.

"I am."

"Oh."

"Would you come?" he asked hopefully.

I giggled. I wriggled. "Again?" I asked pressing his hips between my thighs.

Edward smiled and touched his nose to mine. "Very cute. I was talking about my mother, though. Would you come to her birthday dinner?"

"Really? You want me to meet your mother?"

"She'd like to meet _you_."

All of the implications of that statement ran through my head in a whirl.

"Yes!" I cheered, pulling myself to a sitting position. Edward watched my tits and bit his lip.

"Clothing required," he mumbled, cupping my breasts with his hands, pinching my nipples. "She's old-fashioned that way."

I pretended to pout, and may have rubbed up against him a little more than necessary, as I batted his hands away to go find clothing.

Edward clutched my ass, holding me in place. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To get dressed. No nudity at your mom's, right?"

"Eventually," he said, as a hand slipped downward, as his finger probed. "We can be fashionably late. No need to rush."

I did as Edward suggested. I took him slowly.

xXxXx

My breath caught in my throat when I realized exactly where we were meeting Esme Cullen for dinner.

"Eleazar?" I asked, as Emmett slowed the car in a familiar alley.

Edward shrugged. He was noticeably jumpy.

I put two and two together. "It was exactly a year ago when you… and I, when we... You were in town for your mother's birthday, weren't you?"

Edward nodded. "When I found you," he said.

"And you came back here the next day… when you left me at the apartment."

"I did."

"I'd figured you had a date."

Edward finally smiled. "A date with a much older woman. Come on, Bella. Let's go."

Edward's mother was small, like me, but with honey-colored hair done in a short, tight perm. She was also sweet and doting, and very soft-spoken. She couldn't look at Edward without smiling, and she touched him often, like she was making sure he wasn't just a mirage. I kind of knew the feeling.

"This is Bella?" she asked, grabbing my free hand. Edward had my other hand caught in a vice-like grip.

"This is Bella," I replied. "Bella is me!"

Edward coughed, hiding his laughter.

"He said you were funny," she quietly enthused.

"He did?" I asked, floored that Edward would speak of me at all.

"And pretty, too. My boy's not a liar. You're quite fetching," she said, smiling up at the boy that towered over her.

Dinner at Eleazar was completely different the second time around. Well, not completely, I guess. I still got the macaroni and cheese, but at least I was the one to order it. Edward smiled as he held my hand under the table. I slipped my foot up his calf to the back of his knee and giggled as I watched his fork scrape against his plate, momentarily losing his cool. We both chatted with his mother about the things we were working on: his music, my writing.

Edward's mother did a lot of watching. She seemed content to listen. More than content, really. By the end of dinner she was practically buzzing.

"Take care of my boy," she whispered in my ear when she hugged me goodbye.

I shook my head. "It's always been the other way around," I demurred.

Esme grabbed my hands. "He regards you so highly, Bella. Don't worry. Just remember that, okay? I know it's true. So should you."

"He regards me," I repeated, feeling out her words.

"I told him to be good to you, no matter what, but you know men."

"Well, no, not really," I admitted. "The only men I know are Edward, and maybe Emmett… and my dad. But even if I did _know_ them, I think being good to me is requisite. Don't you?"

Maybe I should have taken Esme's silence as a warning. Maybe it's a good thing that I turned a blind eye. Maybe hindsight isn't always twenty/twenty, because I still have no idea what I should have done with such an ambiguous parting.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"Even though I don't want to take anything back," I try explaining to Seth. "It still doesn't mean that telling her is the right thing to do."

"You kind of let the cat out of the bag, already," Seth replies. "I mean, you can't just say, I was totally kidding, Little One!"

"Maybe I'm giving her the wrong message."

"Bella, you know I was against this in the beginning. _You_ know. I wasn't on board – _at all_. But, Bell, this… all of this… go with your gut, okay? What good has ever come of hiding the truth?"

"Not much," I agreed.

xXxXx

**December 25****th****, 1997 – Either Rosalie needs to keep her mouth shut, or I need to start telling the truth. Maybe we could co-ordinate beforehand.**

"I can't believe you just said that," I hissed, as I watched my fiancé brooding in the cold night. We were standing next to a crackling fire, surrounded by the warm glow of golden Christmas lights and bowers of holly. Rose could decorate for the holidays like nobody's business.

"What?" she asked innocently, joining me at the window.

"You heard me, Rosalie, and I think you know very well what you just did."

"You're marrying him, Bella. Shouldn't there be, like, full disclosure?" she asked.

I raised an eyebrow and cleared my throat. Rosalie shook her head.

"Royce knows about Emmett," she argued. She knew me well enough to guess what I was thinking before I even had to open my mouth. As if on queue, we watched Royce tramp out into the snow and offer Tyler a beer.

"Everything?" I asked. I highly doubted Royce knew _everything_. I had a feeling he drank more than he should in order to purge what he did know from his mind.

"Bella, Emmett and I are over, and Royce knows that. After… everything Emmett did. After the part he played in -"

I clutched my friend's arm, silently willing her to stop. I knew what Emmett did. I didn't need her to remind me. Luckily, Rosalie caught on quickly.

"I'm just saying, Bella, if Emmett came looking for me, I'd tell Royce."

"Edward and I," I began in a shaky voice. "We're… can't it just be mine, Rose? I don't want to share it with Tyler."

"You may not be sharing anything with Tyler after this. He just found out you've been keeping your hot little affair with a rock star a secret for the entire two years you've dated. He just learned this rock star's been sending you mail and meeting you in New York, and you haven't breathed a word."

"I told Edward to stop with the mail. I told him it was over. And it was the hardest thing I ever had to do, Rosalie!"

"It wasn't the hardest thing, Bella. Remember that."

My heart lurched. "I know."

Rosalie held me. She let me cry. We watched Royce motioning towards the house with his beer bottle. Tyler chanced a look in our direction and I hid my face against Rosalie's chest.

"Tyler loves me. He's good for me," I chanted.

"Is he going to make you happy?" Rose asked.

"He should."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

I tiptoe down the hall to my daughter's room. It's not that I don't trust Rosalie, but well, fine... I don't trust Rosalie. She always has my best intentions at heart, but subtlety is not her strong point. And I still haven't decided whether or not I want to try to put the cat back in the bag.

I pause just outside the door to my daughter's room.

"He liked Mommy a lot, right, Rosie?" I hear my daughter asking.

"I don't think I'm the best one to answer that question, Kiddo."

"But Mommy doesn't really say."

"He liked her," Rose agrees. I smile. Edward did like me.

"In the kissing way?" my daughter presses.

"You should ask -"

"Come on, Rosie!"

I hold my breath.

"Well, you're right - your Mommy's not one to kiss and tell. Believe me, I've tried… Yes, Kiddo, they kissed."

"A lot?" my daughter asks breathlessly.

"Well, if I had to guess, yes, they kissed a lot."

My daughter giggles. "I knew it."

"Okay, Kiddo. Go to bed, alright?"

"But, Rosie… what happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that something happened. They didn't stay kissing together forever."

"Your Mommy didn't say?" Rosalie asks cautiously. I clutch the doorframe.

"I think she's scared to say it," my daughter whispers, like she's suddenly afraid I might hear.

"Your mommy doesn't like to talk about some things, little one. Not just kissing things. You should ask her. It's not my story to tell."

Rosalie's right – it's not her story. It's my story to tell.

Back in the beginning I'd thought this was such an ingenious plan: tell my daughter the story. I knew it would be hard, I knew there were unpleasant parts, but now I'm second guessing myself. I don't want to re-live the pain, and I don't want my daughter to feel my heartache, but an incomplete history is just a lie.

I decide to ask Seth and Rosalie if they wouldn't mind going home early. I need time to think.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Rob & I didn't plan the Comicon haircut around the chapter. Kristin thought it would be funny.  
><strong>

**I'm always afraid I'll leave someone out, so I avoid names, but to the ladies that help me cling to my sanity, you know who you are - I appreciate you more than words. (Stop singing that song by Extreme).**

**And god, your reviews have been awesome! Seriously, thank you! And, you know, if everyone that has favorited this little story left one this week... I'd have twice as many. Let's go for it... what do you say?**

**Teaser wars... facebook... Fiction Freak95... Troublefollows... check it out!**

**Until next week, xxx, M**


	12. Ask

**With MaryJaneStew on one shoulder, and KikiTheDreamer on the other, I'm hoping to bring you a fair & balanced story. Those two are like the Fox News & NPR of TiaL. I love them.**

* * *

><p><strong>Present day<strong>

Rosalie and Seth are long gone and my daughter is down for the count. I lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling, but there's no way I'm falling asleep any time soon. I've kept the blinds open to let the moonlight into the bedroom. When I'm troubled, moonbeams help. I'm well aware that this is because there were no blinds in my room at Edward's apartment.

I sigh as my eyes come to rest on the box on the nightstand. Even the littlest things come back to him – like my favorite light to sleep by. This used to make me feel weak, now it simply makes sense.

I loved Edward in a deep, undying way. I loved him through and through, without restraint, with innocence that only comes with youth. Despite what he might have called me, Edward stepped in and he became _my_ everything: protector, parent, friend… my love and my heart.

It's natural that I don't want to spill his secrets. It's normal to want to protect him and to paint him in the best possible light – moonlight: soft and muted, easy on the senses.

He warned me so many times.

xXxXx

**October 3****rd****, 1989 – I wish every day could be like this past Sunday… but Edward says that's impossible. I'm out to prove him wrong.**

From what I remember, it was a chilly fall. In my memory, every day was gray and rainy with splashes of orange and yellow falling from the trees. I watched it all through large windows, wrapped in Edward's arms.

We'd lay in a naked, tangled mess in front of the fireplace and the orange flames would play with the green of his irises and make shadows dance over our skin.

We kissed slowly, like we had all the time in the world, while Edward's hands carefully caressed each curve and dip. Eventually, he wrapped his fingers around my thigh and pulled it up over his hip, exposing me to the fire and opening me - because he was ready again.

His eyes never left mine as he slipped inside.

"God, you," he murmured. "Fuck."

So, we fucked. Why not? We did it well. I knew how to arch my back to make him gasp and close his eyes, and he knew just what pace to set to slowly tease me and steadily bring me higher, to gradually make me lose myself. He knew the secret places I liked to be kissed, and he did it with open eyes. I rolled on top of him and knotted my hands in his hair – tugging and making him hiss as my breasts brushed his bare chest. With a tilt of my hips and some whispers about what it felt like to be fucking him, I could make Edward come every time.

I liked to watch the way his eyelids shut tight and his lips parted, the way I could make him feel. And satisfied, I'd snuggle. I'd kiss his neck and run my hand over his chest, playing with his soft hair, letting it lead me lower.

"My god, my little everything. You," he breathed. "You… I -"

I held my breath, waiting for Edward to finish his thought.

He didn't, though. He simply sealed the incomplete sentiment with a kiss to my forehead.

"You… _regard_ me?" I asked as he cradled me in his arms. I hadn't been able to get his mother's statement out of my mind.

"What?" Edward chuckled.

"You. Regard. Me," I repeated, brushing my nose against his, and pecking his lips. "I have insider information, about your… _regard_."

"Bella," he began. I waited once again, but he didn't add anything to my name.

"You like me, right?" I asked.

"To put it mildly," he agreed.

"You call me… _everything_."

Edward smiled and my heart fluttered. I could have been imagining it, but I was quite certain his smiles were coming with increasing frequency those days.

"_My _everything," he murmured. "There's a difference."

The only appropriate response was to brush my lips against his, to part my lips, to let him in… and all too soon we were running the very real possibility of losing ourselves once again. There was no question about where that would lead. I pulled myself away.

I couldn't help but push.

"So… _regard_ would be the next natural step?" I asked, brushing his hair from his eyes.

"Bella."

"I regard you right back, you know, Edward. I have a lot of… _regard_."

"_Bella_," he repeated, holding me by my shoulders, stopping me cold.

"What?"

"I'm shit at this."

"I seriously beg to differ," I said, wiggling where we touched.

"Bella, shit." He pushed me backwards until I was sitting. "You, I… _please_."

I searched his eyes, wondering if love was always this hard to ferret out, growing more certain by the second that love shouldn't have to be ferreted in the first place. Edward must have loved me. I was so close to being certain. I pressed his hips between my thighs, like that would keep him from getting up; from walking away and avoiding the very real emotions in the room.

He ran his hands over my arms. He held my hips. I waited. He sighed.

"You mean more to me than anyone in the world, Bella… and to bring you into this. _This_… I fucking swore I'd never do this. And then, with the one I care about, _you_..."

Just as I feared, he sat up.

"Don't leave!" I gasped.

He didn't leave, though. He wrapped his arms around me and pressed my head to his chest, instead.

"I know what you're looking for, Bella, and it's something I can't give," he murmured.

"Never? I mean, I don't even know what I'm looking for," I argued. It was a lie, though. I knew very well, and somehow I found the courage to continue. "I just want to hear that you… love."

Edward's body went rigid and he closed his eyes and bit his lip hard enough that I was sure I'd taste blood if we kissed.

"Listen to me, Bella. All I can be sure of is this, here, right now. Next week, two weeks, two months from now… You'll be taken care of, if you want, but I can't guarantee any more than that. I'm not good for anyone, least of all you."

I pushed myself away from his chest and tried to wriggle out of his lap, but Edward held me tight.

"How can you say that?" I sputtered. "This… is really good. Like, really, really good."

"You make everything better, Bella… And I'll ruin it all."

Rain pattered against the windows. Embers popped in the fire.

"That doesn't make sense."

"I know… and it's unfair. Letting you into my life, letting this happen… it's the most selfish thing I've ever done. That's saying a fucking lot." Edward shook his head, but I made him look at me.

"Selfish? I _want_ this. I want you. Do you have any idea how amazing… this is for me?"

Edward seemed to smile against his will, and he pushed my hand away and held it in his. "Now it's amazing. Now, _fuck_, everything's better. Don't doubt what you've done. Ever. But it's not going to stay this way, Bella."

"Why?"

"_I _don't stay this way, and I won't… not with you. I won't trap _you_, of all people… not in that. The insanity ends with me. I decided that a long time ago."

"What are you, like, Dr. Jekyll?" I asked, laughing nervously and hating myself for it.

"I'm not joking. If I see it coming, if I feel myself fucking falling… I don't want you there."

His words tore through my chest.

"You don't want me?"

"I want so much better for you. Everything, for _my_ everything. I wish it could be me." His eyes looked like glassy green fire, lit by the flames from the hearth.

"You are better. It could be you." I quietly argued, willing it to be true. There wouldn't ever be anyone else. I was certain.

"I'm not even close, Bella."

"You're the best for me," I plead for him to agree.

"No."

I kissed him. "Yes."

"Bella, shh," he hushed and kissed me back.

I wrapped my legs around him as I sat in his lap. Edward had been naked for about a month straight, but that afternoon was the first time he ever seemed exposed, and he clung to me as I tried to ignore the cracks threading their way through my heart – the heart that was dying to love openly at the same time it was being denied.

"God, Edward," I murmured as I shifted and he lifted.

"We have this now, and it's perfect, Bella," he insisted.

It was perfect... we exchanged perfect touches and kisses and spent days writing and reading. I listened to Edward's album take shape, becoming clearer and more defined each hour we spent together. We treated each day like a gift.

"You wrote this?" Edward asked one morning when I came back from the shower and found him on my bed, with one of my notebooks on his lap.

"You read that?" I gulped.

"It was open."

"I can't believe you read… _that_."

I'd crafted a story around, well, sex. It wasn't necessarily about Edward and me, but the feelings, both physical and emotional were the same. It was a story driven by the heart; something bathed in sunlight about skin slipping against skin - a tragedy in ten thousand words.

I couldn't help but notice that Edward really seemed to be… enjoying it. I looked away, suddenly conspicuous in just a towel. I felt my cheeks warming.

"You're fucking amazing," he said, pulling me on top of him. I couldn't look at him and tried to hide my face against his chest.

"You shouldn't read other people's… stuff," I argued.

"Is that was this is like for you?" he asked, as his hands found their way under my towel, an irrepressible smile on his face. "Is it as good as your writing?"

"It's not the same for you?" I asked, and then gasped as his fingers found their way inside.

"I could never make the written word match this," he managed, before his mouth claimed mine, his fingers teased my nipple and his knee parted my thighs. "But you can. You're… fuck me," he grunted, and he was… inside me.

"Astounding… breathtaking… beautiful." Edward offered an adjective with each thrust.

The pages went missing from my notebook, but who could really care? We floated and fucked and I tried to pretend his words of caution were a dream… until Alice descended and brought me abruptly down to earth.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

As much as I hated Alice in the beginning, she helped me so much in the end. Eventually, we won one another over. How could we not? We both had Edward's best interests at heart. It turned out that she grew to care about me just as much as she did Edward. I can't imagine it's easy to neutrally balance between two opposing camps, yet she did. Not just with me, but with Jasper as well. Alice is amazing… and relentless. I owe her quite a bit.

Did Edward have an accurate diagnosis in the fall of 1989? I'm not sure, even today. He'd been mislabeled so many times that he didn't bother to try to explain things to me with a name. By then he'd owned his moods – he wouldn't pass them off as an arbitrary illness.

I know he'd sworn off meds – Alice eventually told me as much. The ones available back then made him feel dead inside. They took all of the joy out of his life and replaced both highs and lows with endless, bleak and unproductive months. They kept him from the brink, but plunged him in darkness.

I didn't understand, though. You can't really - not until you've gone through it firsthand.

Edward struggled from the moment he saw me in that alley. Perhaps he should have left me in a paid hotel room with a stipend. That would have changed my life and saved my heart. If he'd left me alone, though, I never would have known how much my heart could love. I never would have known how profoundly it could be hurt.

I'm grateful that he couldn't let me go. I'll take the pain. I think he'd agree. Actually, I know he would.

**September 10****th****, 1988 – Oh my god, what am I doing?**

Since there was no traffic at that hour of the night, the ride to Edward's apartment was a quick one. Edward was quiet. He stared out the window like there was a calculus problem he was trying to solve in his reflection.

"Um," I breathed, searching for something to say.

"I have a guest room," he explained to his window.

"Right," I agreed.

I would have stayed in his bedroom.

"The rest of your belongings?" Edward asked, his eyes falling on the backpack at my feet.

"By the microfiche."

"Of course. I'll send Emmett in the morning," Edward murmured and went back to solving difficult math equations out the window.

"He won't be able to get into the library without an NYU I.D," I warned.

"I'll send Emmett," he repeated in a voice that let me know the case was closed.

Edward didn't touch me when I scrambled out of the limo in front of his apartment building. He didn't acknowledge me as we waited for the elevator and, once inside, he stared at his feet instead of our reflection in the mirrored walls. I snuck glances at him, of course. With hands balled into fists and a tightly clenched jaw, Edward looked like he wanted to punch something.

Maybe I should have been frightened, but I wasn't.

Instead of cowering in a corner, I had the impulse to take him into my arms. I mean, he had circles under his eyes and slumped shoulders, and he leaned against the wall for support. Even though it appeared that Emmett was at his beck and call, and he had a band and managers, and I'd just seen thousands of people falling at his feet, there, in the elevator with me, Edward was very much alone. It didn't suit him; it wasn't working. He needed more. _I _could be more. Right? Maybe?

Maybe.

I examined myself in the mirrors, wondering if I was more; trying to discern if I was really as thin as Edward had said. I'd always been skinny, but maybe my cheekbones weren't always so prominent and my eyes hadn't always looked so large. I couldn't decide.

I didn't give him a hug.

Instead, I followed Edward across the landing and waited as he fiddled with the locks and reached for the light, and then I shyly followed him into the apartment, holding my breath. His place was more old-fashioned and ornate than I would have imagined, but its high ceilings, shiny floors and enormous windows filled with bright moonlight were breathtaking, nonetheless. A big, black piano glimmered in the semi-darkness.

I nearly tripped over a bag overflowing with rumpled, dirty clothing that had been discarded just to the side of the door.

Edward stood awkwardly in the foyer, still not looking at me.

"This is really… kind," I mumbled.

"It's not kind. It's merely human. Don't ever let yourself do something so… _foolish_ again without -"

"Foolish?" I demanded, taken aback. "Foolish? Listen, not everyone has a penthouse apartment to go back home to, you know."

"You had me, Bella. There's no need for you to live in a goddamned library. You had me."

"What does that even mean?"

"I don't know. Come."

Without another word, or even a glance in my direction, Edward strode down a long hallway and flicked on lights as he went. The room he led me to was larger than my bedroom at home - hell, it was probably about as big as my entire house. One wall was covered with enormous windows, and the other was dominated by a huge bed with a pretty, wrought iron headboard.

"Will this do?" he asked, stepping aside to let me enter without touching him.

"Um…"

"There's a bathroom down the hall."

"Okay." I could use a bathroom.

"And the kitchen and den and library… you can treat it all like it's yours."

"It's _definitely_ not mine," I said, trying to take it all in.

I took a couple steps into the room and sat on the bed. Edward actually backed up into the hallway.

"It's late," he said, looking intently at his shoes.

"Or early," I offered.

"You don't have… anything."

"Not compared to you."

"You have no fucking idea, Bella. Wait here"

Edward was back in about five minutes with a carefully folded T-shirt and a robe and a bottle of shampoo. He hesitated at the doorway like there was an invisible barrier there, but finally crossed the threshold and placed the items next to me on the bed. "There's already soap and towels in the bathroom. I checked."

"Um, thanks."

Edward shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Night?" he murmured, almost like it was a question, rocking on his heels.

He was close enough that I could have reached out and touched him. I didn't.

"Okay, sure. Goodnight… Edward."

That night I took my first real shower in almost a month, not forgetting for a second that I was naked in Edward-freaking-Cullen's apartment. My body tingled the entire time, probably as much from the massage setting on the showerhead as from my imagination… I pretended that my hands were his. I purposefully left the door unlocked, just in case he needed to use the guest bathroom, of course.

Didn't happen.

Instead, I was very much alone as I toweled dry and unfolded the T-shirt Edward left for me. My hands immediately began to shake. It was the Specials T-shirt. You know; _the_ Specials T-shirt – the one Edward was wearing the first time we'd met. It had to mean something, right? What the hell did it mean? I wracked my brain, trying to figure it out as I tiptoed back to the guest bedroom, completely naked except for that thin, cotton covering.

He'd mind-fucked me with a T-shirt.

It goes without saying that there was no way I was sleeping much that night. I lay in the dark and stared at the sliver of light underneath the bedroom door. I half wondered and half hoped to god that Edward would surprise me. He didn't. Each time I tossed and turned I felt the soft cotton rubbing over my nipples. He wanted me to feel that way. Probably. Maybe.

I finally padded over to the windows and gazed across the black void of Central Park to the Westside high rises. Everything, both outside and in, seemed so quiet, except for my mind. On an impulse I rooted through my backpack and wrote the rest of the night away.

xXxXx

I grab the box from my nightstand and begin sorting through small notebooks, and I finally find the one I'm looking for. It's more tattered than the rest. My hands shake as I find the page. I trace my own curling cursive with my fingertip. It's nearly unrecognizable. I don't write that way anymore. It's hard to believe that I'm the same person that sat on the windowsill, wearing nothing but _that_ T-shirt, writing by the light of the stars.

I heard once that all of the cells in our body turn over every seven years. I don't know if that's true, but if it is, it means that not a cell is left of the girl that wrote this diary entry. Not a cell in my body was present that night – it's just a memory; ether added to the air.

The book in my hands was there, though – it's my connection to my past. It's why this box and its contents are so important. How could Rosalie have ever dreamed I'd give this up? Give him up? Give up my heart?

My eyes tear as I read my entry.

**Tonight, Edward Cullen found me in a crowd. He heard my voice and when he saw me, he asked Emmett to bring me to him. Edward said that he was worried about **_**me**_**, and tonight he's letting me sleep in his house. I never knew he cared. He cared. **

**Right now I'm sitting above Manhattan, wearing nothing but his T-shirt, and I want nothing more than his hands. **

**I still can't figure him out, though. Half the time I think he's just being nice, and half the time I think he wants to tear me to pieces, and then there's the little slivers of time I think maybe he wants me as much as I want him. **

**I must be imagining it.**

**He was angry tonight and he held my hand sometimes, but I know that doesn't mean anything. Jake and Seth both held my hand too. I'm pretty sure Edward's not gay, though...**

I manage to laugh, even as tears well in my eyes. Edward certainly wasn't gay. I'd had that right. And these days I know with clarity that Edward wanted me more than I could have imagined.

In fact, I'm guessing he loved me, even then. I can't say I loved Edward at that point in time. I was drawn to him and star-struck and in bad need of a parent. That last part complicated matters, of course.

xXxXx

When I woke up that morning, I didn't wonder where I was, I wasn't caught up in dreamy disbelief. I knew without a doubt that I was nearly naked in Edward Cullen's apartment. The bright sunlight streaming through the wall of windows helped to clarify things as it fell on me, and the big bed, and my two backpacks.

My _two_ backpacks?

The backpack I'd stowed away at the library was sitting at the foot of my bed.

He'd been in my room. God, why and when did I fall asleep?

Edward was already awake when I wandered into the kitchen. He sat at the table with a cup of coffee in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other.

I couldn't help but scowl. My mom was a smoker. The stink of it drove me insane. Edward immediately stabbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. I gasped.

"Seriously, do you read everyone's mind, or just mine?" I asked.

He blinked, but didn't answer.

"Thanks for getting my stuff."

"It was Emmett."

"Well, thank Emmett, then, I guess."

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, finally sneaking a glance at me. He settled in his chair, looking a bit more relaxed.

"I had a hard time sleeping at all," I admitted. "But I must have… the backpack was… _there_, you know?"

"I didn't want you forced to run around the place… in a T-shirt."

"Was it _the_ T-shirt?"

I could have slapped myself on the forehead. I never meant to actually ask.

"Excuse me?" Another inquisitive glance from Edward and my heart skipped a beat.

I felt my cheeks going warm. I was a hopeless nut.

"From when we met?" I managed to barely whisper.

Edward pushed his chair back from the table and tapped his fingertips on the armrest. "It's Jasper's. It's… _small._ I thought it would fit… _you_… better."

My mood plummeted. I'd been wearing Jasper Whitlock's T-shirt out of convenience.

"Would you like to eat?" he asked. "There's not much, but I had Emmett bring over some cut fruit and coffee along with your bag.

"Um, yeah. Sure."

I slipped into a seat across the table from Edward and he pushed a large container of fruit salad in my direction. It was mostly melon. I hated melon, but didn't want Edward to start harping about my weight again.

"So, thanks for letting me stay last night," I said, forcing down a large piece of tasteless, half-ripe cantaloupe.

"Last night?" he asked.

"Or morning, technically, I guess." Before I could even finish my sentence, I was seized by tension that began radiating off of Edward in waves.

"You can't seriously think I'm going to let you go back to living on the streets!"

"Let me?" I coughed, trying to swallow that goddamned melon.

"Let you," he agreed.

"You're not going to _let_ me do anything, Edward. And I wasn't on 'the streets'." I went ahead and made air quotes. Who did he think he was?

"The microfilm station at the library isn't a home."

"Micro-_fiche_," I hissed. Hadn't the man done any research, ever?

With that exchange, I was granted one of my wishes that morning: Edward finally looked at me for more than a split second. Or, more accurately, he glared at me. We stared one another down. I was angry and confused and I definitely didn't like Edward in weird dad mode. I'd never had a real father, and I certainly wasn't looking for one in Edward Cullen.

"Bella," he sighed. "Don't tell me you want to live like that."

I honestly couldn't figure out why I was arguing. He was right. I didn't want to stay in a library and lie to my friends.

"I leave tomorrow. This place'll be vacant," he explained.

With just six words, it was like he punched me in the gut. I could stay there because he'd be gone. He didn't want to stay with me. The T-shirt didn't mean anything. He cared… but not in the way I'd hoped.

"Promise you'll stay," he asked. "I can't leave thinking you'll be sleeping next to microfiche."

"I'd pay rent."

"The fuck you would."

"I'm not a charity case, or, I don't know… kept."

Edward shook his head and closed his eyes. "The last album… you don't get it, do you, Bella? This is the very fucking least I can do. No rent. No _budgeting_ for food from here on in. You'll have a stipend."

"I can buy my own food," I growled.

Edward raised his eyebrows and his eyes swept over my body. "I don't know that you can."

I shivered and folded my arms across my chest. "I'll eat, _sir_," I grumbled. "I promise." However, I went out of my way not to force down any more of the disgusting melon. He couldn't tell me _what_ to eat, for god's sake.

"Now that that's settled, your friend would like you to call her," Edward mentioned, taking another sip of coffee, checking out a spot just above my head.

"My friend?"

"Emmett mentioned it this morning." He looked out a window.

"Rosalie?" I guessed.

Edward shrugged.

"You can use the phone in the library."

xXxXx

The phone call began with excited screaming on Rose's part, and then progressed to me promising to never keep anything from her, ever again, and ended with a final demand for details.

"_He's good in bed, right?"_

Edward was much more than 'good' in bed, but I didn't know that yet. I wouldn't have told her, anyway.

"It's not like that," I explained.

"_It's not good? Really?"_

"I'm sure he's… good, but we didn't… you know."

"_If he didn't want sex, well then, what are you doing with him? Interior decorating? Playing cards? Knitting?"_

"He's, I don't know… he cares."

"_What does that mean?" _

"I don't know." I admitted. "Maybe he's just nice."

"_His security guy's kind of nice,"_ she giggled.

"Emmett?" I asked.

"_He came back after he took you away. I asked him where the hell you were. You know what he said?"_

"Um, no?"

"_He said, 'Edward's flirting with trouble,'" _Rose replied, using a deep, faux-Emmett voice.

I laughed. Emmett was funny, even second-hand.

"_And then he said he'd keep an eye on you and that he'd make sure you called."_

"Emmett's good as security. He makes me feel safe."

"_Does Edward Cullen make you feel… unsafe?"_

"Edward Cullen makes me feel confused."

xXxXx

I place the notebook back in my box. Edward would engender enough confusion to fill much more than a lifetime. Just when I was certain I had him figured out, something would change and I'd be back at square one.

Eventually, I accepted everything Edward had tried to tell me from the beginning. I understood that he felt compelled to help me. I knew that he was drawn to me, and that he loved me against his will, against his own better judgment, even.

I learned what it meant to be mentally and emotionally unstable… to feel powerless to charter your own moods. I would never forgive his actions, but I told myself I understood.

Whatever transpired, Edward Cullen lived by his principles… the same ones he tried to explain to me that rainy, fall afternoon. He would live and die with his instability, and he would try not to draw anyone else into that morass.

Finally, after losing more than I'd ever bargained, I took his words to heart. I moved on. I left him behind. I took everything he gave me: every opportunity, all the praise, and I used it to make a full and successful life.

I should have known Edward was full of surprises, though. Just as I settled in, convinced I'd moved on, he rocked the boat again.

**September 9****th**** 1998: A rude awakening**

I'd held myself back from mailing Esme Cullen a birthday card that year. Edward had dutifully stopped sending me packages. I hadn't received even a scrap of paper from him for nearly nine months; the least I could do was reciprocate. It didn't mean that I wasn't thinking of Esme, though. On the contrary, I worried that she'd miss my correspondence. If I'd carefully examined my feelings, I might have noticed the misguided fear that Edward would register my card's absence too.

My fears were definitely misguided. I'd had no warning, whatsoever.

The afternoon of Esme Cullen's sixty-second birthday, I knocked off work early and sat down with a tall Arnold Palmer and my guilty pleasure.

Seth thought he was being funny when he bought Rosalie and me a subscription to US Magazine for our birthdays. He liked to call us secret star-fuckers - when Tyler and Royce weren't listening, of course. Only Seth could get away with something like that. It didn't escape his notice, either, that I pawed my way through that magazine religiously every Friday.

I couldn't help it. I loved US Magazine. The stupid gossip rag was my favorite way to escape into a world I'd flirted with almost ten years ago, and the world I was brushing elbows with on my own terms in the present day.

The casting execs had just informed me that Daniel Day Lewis was in serious talks to play the lead in the film adaptation of my novel. That surreal information made me ridiculously giddy. I desperately wanted to see Lewis at his method acting best, and I hoped to god he'd stay in character through the months of filming my book.

That Friday I was thumbing through the little magazine, mentally paring each of the actresses I came across with Mr. Lewis. I made myself giggle out loud more than once.

US Magazine isn't the point of this memory, though. Neither is my first film. The point is that Seth and Rosalie knew about my habit, and I didn't even have to place phone a call in order for them to know.

They found me in shock. I was too far gone for tears, too lost to my emotions to pitch a fit or throw things. I sat there and I read and re-read the small blurb until the words blurred in front of my eyes and danced meaninglessly on the page.

I rifle through the box and find the page I tore from the magazine that afternoon. It was listed under '_For The Record'_, with all of the other star news that didn't merit a full column.

**Former Masen's frontman, Edward Cullen, tied the knot with iconic songstress, Kate Denali, in an intimate ceremony in her hometown of Hampshire, England. No details yet on which continent the newly minted couple plans to call home.**

Rosalie made it to my house first.

"Bella, are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay, Rosalie?" I answered woodenly.

My friend sat down next to me on the couch, pulled the magazine from my hands and folded it closed.

"Don't go into hiding mode on me, Bella," she instructed. I'd heard her use the same tone with her children when they tried to sneak cookies from the kitchen.

"I'm not hiding, I'm right here." I sounded as petulant as Julia and Sammy.

"You know what I mean," she insisted and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"Did you know?" I asked, leafing through the colorful pages to find the post again, fixating on the words, trying to figure out where the part about it being a joke was hidden.

"How would I know? I think your agent might have some explaining to do, though."

"Alice?" I asked and tore my eyes away from the magazine and finally glanced at my friend.

Rosalie raised her eyebrows accusingly. "Tell me they're not still in touch," she demanded.

"We don't talk about… _him_." I gulped.

Seth burst through my back door. "You saw it?" he asked breathlessly, like he'd run all the way to my house. I've since asked him about that afternoon – he actually ran. He's the best friend a girl could ever have.

"She saw it," Rose replied.

I snapped out of my self-pity long enough to notice that Rose and Seth each brought their own copies of US Magazine with them. Laughter bubbled up from deep within, and I couldn't help but feel somewhat maniacal.

Seth began raiding the cabinets, and all of the sudden it was like I was sixteen again… except this time he wasn't looking for liquor to celebrate Edward writing me a letter, but because Edward was just married.

_Married. _

My eyes brimmed with tears. When I was sixteen, I'd never dreamed that I would be in this position: successful, loved, engaged to an amazing man… and upset because Edward Cullen was marrying another woman.

Upset?

Upset was the understatement of a lifetime.

I felt the tears trickling down my cheeks.

"Oh, baby," Rose cooed as she folded me into her arms.

I collapsed against her. My chest heaved and my voiced croaked.

I closed my eyes and Rosalie and I rocked together. He said he couldn't… He told me I meant more to him than anyone, and yet he couldn't commit to me. He lied.

He lied.

He said he'd never marry, and that he'd never share himself with anyone like he had with me. I was supposed to be it. I was supposed to be everything.

"Bella, you know you're better off," Seth said, and I heard the sound of a bottle and some glasses clattering on the coffee table.

I cried harder.

It shouldn't have mattered. I was engaged. I was in love. Tyler Crowley was the most amazing man I'd ever met (besides Edward), and he loved me dearly. He'd do anything for me. We had plans for a life together, plans for starting a family. He was the only person I ever risked explaining that part of my life to… the complications involved.

But news of Edward's marriage mattered. Deeply.

I pounded the shot Seth poured for me and it burned on the way down. For the first time in years, I felt the need to get completely wasted.

Seth seemed to anticipate the need. He brought glasses for each of us. God, I loved him.

"The fucker, huh?" he asked, pushing the magazine out of my line of vision.

"That asshole's so full of shit, you know?" Rose huffed.

"I knew his smooth, emo lines were just a pile of crap," Seth grumbled, before tossing back a shot of his own.

"Oh, but I'm too damaged for marriage," Rose rasped in a deep whispery voice, clutching her heart. Seth chuckled, until he caught sight of me.

"I know it's got to sting, Bell. But, you got out free and clear. We should have a moment of silence for Kate Denali."

Seth's words hit home. They stung, because US Magazine had made it glaringly obvious that I'd gotten out, but I was neither free nor clear.

It took less than a week for me to break off my engagement with Tyler. I'd been fooling myself. He deserved better.

Tyler Crowley eventually married. We cross paths sometimes at publishing functions. He has three children, and each of them looks just like him. He's happy, and I'm so glad I ended things when I did.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

I wake to a flurry of activity. My daughter is running around the house excitedly, picking out dolls, videos games and an outfit for each possible change in the direction of the wind.

Finally, completely over-packed, she settles down to eat her breakfast.

"You have _everything_, Little One?" I chuckle, grabbing a mug of coffee. It's partially a joke about the size of her overnight bag, but my daughter also has this little quirk. She has a tendency to fall to pieces without her own personal toothpaste from home. A replacement, even the same brand, won't do. As a baby, she never clung to a security blanket or a pacifier – she needed human touch. She craved that parental connection. Now she needs toothpaste.

"I have my toothpaste, Mommy," she says, rolling her eyes dramatically.

"And your P.J.'s and an extra pair of panties, just in case?" I ask.

Granted, it's been almost two years since she's had an accident. She shakes her head as if I'm a lost cause.

"I have stuff _there _too, Mommy," she says. Of course, she's right.

"Well, have fun," I say, and pull her in for a big hug that she promptly wriggles out of.

"I'm gonna be back tomorrow night! I won't be gone long."

"I know."

I do know. I asked for this time alone. A car horn honks outside.

"He's here!" she cheers.

I grit my teeth. I've told him a dozen times to just get out of the car. He says it takes that much longer to extricate her from the house that way. I say I don't want her getting in the habit of running to a man's car when he honks. He says I'm not one to talk.

We can go back and forth like that.

"See you tomorrow, Mommy!"

I catch sight of the sneaky little glimmer in her big brown eyes just as she's picking up her bag.

"Baby?" I ask, using that mom voice that can stop children in their tracks.

"Yeah, Mommy?"

"You know you can ask me anything, right?"

"I know, Mommy."

"Then you know you don't have to go to Daddy and ask, right?"

She's found out. She looks at her feet. I sigh. My aim wasn't to make her feel guilty.

"You can ask your Dad anything, too."

"He'll just tell me to ask you," she says with an embarrassed smile.

"Your daddy's a smart man," I say, and I mean it.

I wave as our daughter runs down the steps to the waiting car.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Excuse me while I run away & hide. What? Daddy? Yeah.**

**Thank you for talking about TiaL everywhere, this week! Thanks to The Fictionators & TwiFicTrivia. (Maybe I just will make Edward's grand gesture some clean-shaven balls). SO MANY people have gotten the word out about this little fic... Thanks so freakin' much!**

**Have you read Meet the Light on Saturdays? (The Meet the Masens/There is a Light/Once Upon a Saturday Mash-up) If not, get yourselves on facebook & check it out. I haven't stopped laughing.**

**Until Next Week, xxx, M**


	13. Stretch Out and Wait

**A/N: Thanks to MaryJaneStew for correcting my coma placement week after week & holding my hand. This week I may have killed KikiTheDreamer. Sorry, Kiks.**

**1,000 Hours is by Sweet Children/Green Day, not me. It can be found here: ht tp : / / www . youtube . com/watch?v=uGyB5x_lkug&feature=related**

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

"_They didn't stay kissing forever_," I hear my daughter whispering to Rosalie in my mind as I hand-wash the dirty dishes from last night and this morning. The monotony of rinse, soap, rinse, repeat is meditative and helps calm my nerves.

I don't know how to frame things for a six-year-old. Hell, framing those things for a twenty year-old was damn near impossible. Even today, my mind rebels. I don't want to think about the darkness and despair that came with the spring of 1990.

I want to revel in the happiness. I want to remember the times that made me certain we would "stay kissing forever", like I was some literary punk rock princess riding off into the sunset with her mercurial rock star prince, in a limo driven by Emmett.

I wasn't as delusional as that might sound. Edward and I were euphoric together.

There were enough amazing moments in the fall of 1989 to fill a dozen notebooks. There are many little stolen pieces of time that I never wrote down, that my mind will sometimes randomly pull up from the depths.

There was that afternoon when I came home from my study group and opened the door to a wall of noise, to screaming, melodic vocals, yelling about love.

"What is this?" I shouted at Edward, trying to make myself heard over the music blaring from the sound system in the library.

"Kids!" he yelled back joyously. "They're kids!"

"Who?"

Edward grabbed my hand and pulled me into the library and turned up the volume, surrounding the two of us with palpable sound and shaking walls. He swung me and kissed me and flashed that infectious smile of his. It was the smile that could win over a stadium, but that afternoon, it was just for me.

Those kids (boys, more accurately) were shouting about love, flowers and kissing to a punk-pop tempo. I beamed at Edward as he sang along. It was the first time he ever sang in front of me, one-on-one like that; and he sang his heart out. He screamed the lyrics and jumped up on the couch, shouting into an invisible microphone… shouting at me.

When he pulled me up onto the couch with him, he might as well have pulled me up onstage. My heart hammered, my body tingled and I felt somewhat faint. Edward dropped his voice, held my head in his hand, looked into my eyes and sang silly lyrics about love.

_Let my hands flow through  
>Your hair. Moving closer<br>A kiss we'll share  
>Passionate love to be all night long<br>We'll never break, as one too strong…_

I let those lyrics written by distant sixteen year-olds mean something. I let myself think Edward was admitting he loved me in his own way. I let myself believe that despite everything he'd told me, Edward and I would be together forever.

When the song faded and the next one started up, I went on tiptoe and pulled Edward's face to mine and I let him know that I loved him too. He swung me around and pushed me against the inlaid bookshelves, tugged away my skirt and pulled down my tights. I wasn't wearing panties and his jeans were quickly undone. He fucked me standing on the couch against a backboard of books, as the walls shook with the deep bass and the glass hummed with treble. I let the lyrics say what Edward couldn't - to a punk rock rhythm. I let the beat pull us together and Edward's actions shatter my mind.

Then there were meals at Eleazar where Edward would drink too much gin and I'd sneak sips when he went to the rest room. On our way home, with a kick to the back of the seat, he'd have Emmett drive up the West Side highway. We'd fly down the road and streetlights would shoot through the backseat as we tore at one another's clothing and I climbed onto his lap.

Ever present rain splattered against the windows and splashed up from the blacktop as his hands tore at silk and spandex, finding a way inside me. I fucked him to the rhythm of the road. Potholes sent his dick plunging toward my throat. Afterwards, sated and calm, lying on leather, he'd push my hair from my face and place gentle kisses on my lips and over my chest. I let myself think that his tenderness was his profession of love. I found significance in the way the raindrops were reflected in the pools of his eyes.

"The rain," I whispered one night, looking from his face to the back windshield as he languidly kissed along my neck.

"What?"

"The city… the rain… I thought…"

Edward turned my face back to his and we kissed. His hands explored as he climbed on top of me and I felt his erection growing against my belly. I tried to remember what I'd been thinking.

"You were getting away from the city and the rain when we met… going to the beach. But now?"

Edward pushed himself up on his hands and glanced out the window at the city that was speeding past us, almost like he was noticing the wet, gray weather for the first time. He sat back on his heels and pulled me up with him.

"The night we met, in the back of my car… you told me some things were bigger than The Masens - things like the rain. Well, some things are even bigger than the rain. Some things are bigger than almost everything," he whispered, kissing me, covering me - nearly suffocated me with what I was certain was love.

Those days, hiding torn panties in coat pockets was the height of romance, and jackets held over ruined tops meant sweet intimacy.

There were nights scattered through the fall when Edward and I would take a cab down to the lower east side. We'd duck into CBGB's and meet up with Emmett and Rose. No one expected Edward Cullen to show up in that dive, so we'd dance and shout along with Agnostic Front or Gorilla Biscuits like any other regular couple might.

Edward and Emmett would reminisce about days on the road and Rose would slip me her drink. She'd make out with Emmett in the hallway. I'd let my hand stray to Edward's crotch when we were jostled against one another in the sweaty, smelly crowd.

Edward looked like a kid those nights. He'd get completely pulled in by the music and the vibe. Afterwards, if he didn't want the night to end, or I'd mention how much I loved the band, Edward would mumble something to a bouncer and give that signature Edward Cullen look, and we'd suddenly be backstage with sticky floors and grafitti'ed walls and a band falling all over itself to say something cool and meaningful to Edward and I.

Edward would gush, and the band would fall all over him, and they'd share their comp'ed beer and try to share everything else: joints, needles, lines. That's when we'd leave.

"We played there when I was a kid," Edward said one night as he tried to pull me onto his lap on our way home. It was one of the few times I pushed him away – we were in a cab – no tinted, soundproof divider.

"I think I knew that."

"I think we were there about a million times in seventy-nine."

I was nine in 1979.

"And A7 and Brownies," he continued. "That was the first time it just felt good. Just a good life, you know?"

"I wish I could have been there," I said honestly.

Edward shook his head. "That shit's so over, though. But you, you've got it all right now. Remember tonight… all of this. Make the most of it. You can't go back to being a kid."

"Being a kid sucks," I argued.

"When it's gone, it's gone forever, though."

"Thank god," I laughed.

xXxXx

I was so naïve. In retrospect, there are so many things I wish I could have held onto. So many things were stolen from my hands and torn from my heart. And despite his steadfast belief, I think Edward fought against that idea that there was no going back as well. Maybe that's part of the reason he married Kate. She reminded him of those days when they were young and they got high and fucked in the piss-soaked bathroom at CB's. I'm bitter – I'm sure they fucked in clean places too.

I turn off the water, wipe down the sink and find refuge in my bedroom.

Those more random memories bring to mind the one morning I've clung to for twenty-two years. We've been over it before.

I find the notebook entry almost effortlessly. The corners of the page are frayed and worn with the oils from my fingertips.

**October 24****th****, 1989 – So many firsts.**

**He slept with me! I woke up and there he was, in my bed, asleep, with his knee against my thigh. I couldn't help it; I whispered 'I love you', twice. When he woke up and saw me there I was so scared that he'd be angry about falling asleep in my bed, but he wasn't. He was… something. He fucked me harder than he ever has before, and he smiled and tickled me.**

**He told me to remember that moment forever. He says that a lot these days. Like I could forget this morning. If nothing else, my vagina will remember it forever.**

**I kid. I'll remember. All of me will.**

**This morning was everything I've wanted from the beginning. It was normal and awesome. We can be normal: fucking and sleeping and waking up together, and then doing it all over again. **

**He loves me. I know it. He'll tell me. He will.**

**This is a very, very good day.**

xXxXx

When I think about that moment, I don't care about the lifespan of cells; the body's regenerative turnover rate can kiss my ass. That morning will live in my bones until I die. It may very well follow me into the grave.

I didn't see sleep as an omen. I saw it as a new beginning. I saw it as every little piece of my life falling into place.

When it's gone, it's gone forever. Why didn't we stay kissing forever?

It's not just Edward's actions, or even his reactions… there are many reasons why we didn't stay together. I've analyzed it for years. I've paid countless therapists. I've felt alternately heartbroken, angry, confused, and proud.

For a while, I blamed Alice, Aro and the rest of the music industry. Hell, I blamed myself for a long time, too. Rosalie blamed Emmett for years. Now it's clear that it wasn't anyone's fault – aside from Edward's… at the end.

It was simply life. There are highs and lows, some higher and some lower than others. He'd warned me, I just didn't want to listen.

xXxXx

**November 16****th****, 1989 – I already knew that Alice Brandon didn't like me, but it just occurred to me that I don't have to like her, either.**

Edward would usually play the piano for hours at a time, so I jumped when the music stopped abruptly. I'd been taking advantage of the melody and using it to fuel my writing. When I heard the fall slam shut I knew something was wrong. I pushed the paper I was trying to write aside and wandered into the foyer.

Edward had turned away from the piano and was holding his head in his hands. His entire body was tense; it was easy for me to tell since he was wearing nothing but boxers. Actually, so was I. We were both a little more covered up than usual.

"Baby?" I asked. "Edward?"

He didn't stir.

"Edward?" I asked again, padding over to him.

He didn't look. He didn't answer.

I went down on my knees to try to find his eyes.

"Hey," I whispered.

He let me pry his hands from his face, and there it was again – that lonely look I hadn't seen for so long. I got the funny feeling that I'd intruded on Edward and his solitude. Sometime since he'd left me to write my paper, he'd wrapped himself in the isolation of the white and black, sun-soaked foyer.

"What is it?" I asked quietly.

"Nerves."

"What nerves?"

"Alice."

Alice Brandon… She avoided me whenever we crossed paths at industry events. Not to mention that Edward also made sure to steer clear of Alice's boyfriend, The Masen's former drummer, Jasper. All that avoiding meant that I hadn't exchanged more than three words with Alice Brandon since she'd barged into Edward's apartment and insulted me.

"She's coming by today. She's waiting to hear. She's not encouraging," Edward mumbled.

"What does Alice matter?"

"I've never worked with another label. It would be easier if it were Alice."

"Would it?" I asked. From what little I'd seen, I couldn't believe that collaborating with Alice could ever be easy.

"She's a friend. I trust her. But this… I worry about putting this out there. I don't know if she'll understand."

"What you've made is beautiful, Edward. It sings."

"What_ I _made?" he asked. "What _you_ made. All I do is channel you."

"That's silly. I didn't do anything to help but fuck you a few million times."

"Bullshit."

I shook my head. He had to know what he'd done, how he'd channeled his passion and his talent and his soul into something that was both intricate and completely original. I kissed him and ran my hands over his chest, fitting my body between his thighs.

"There's nothing Alice could say that would change how I feel about what you made. There's nothing that could change… how I feel about you."

Edward's head fell against mine and he held me like I was a buoy keeping him afloat. I wasn't used to his desperation.

"Let me make you feel better," I asked.

I used my mouth and my eyes, and I used my fingers. His lips were hard and his breathing was heavy, but he pressed his mouth against mine and grasped my hair, pulling it at the roots.

"You… you -"

"Shh," I hushed, as I slipped his boxers down, freeing his hardening cock. My breasts brushed against his inner thighs and I pushed him backwards as my lips went lower. I followed the trail of soft, brown hair I'd dreamed about as a girl as I pushed against his chest, until he was stretched out before me: long, mostly naked and beautiful. Mine. Edward Cullen was mine.

My fingers wrapped around the edge of the bench and I wrapped my lips around the head of his dick. The way he gasped and shuddered was nearly enough to make me cum right there. Instead, I focused and worked with my lips and my tongue and just the edge of my teeth. _I_ made his breathing change. _ I_ made his toes curl. _I _made his fingers tug at my hair and his hips rock in time with my rhythm, pushing him deeper. My mouth was wet and so was my pussy, and Edward whispered something I couldn't catch, mumbling, so close to the edge.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

I choked and coughed on Edward's penis and he knocked his head against the fall. The door slammed shut.

I wiped my lips before turning angry eyes on Alice Brandon.

"You don't live here, you know. Most people knock," I growled.

"I _don't_ live here. You do, though," Alice agreed haughtily, shaking her head.

"Alice, please," Edward groaned, pulling up his boxers and hiding me as best he could between his thighs.

"It's Monday, Edward," Alice informed him in a sarcastic singsong voice. "Forgetful much?"

"I know the day of the week, Alice. You're early, bitchy and rude. Either wait outside, or in the library."

"Please, it's nothing I haven't seen -"

"It wasn't a request, Alice! Move!"

Alice left for the library without another word and Edward pulled me to my feet.

"I don't like her," I muttered.

"She's not angry with you."

"I've heard that one before. It doesn't excuse…_ that_."

"Oh, she'll apologize," he assured me, before stomping off after her.

Alice found me in the kitchen a few hours later. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed the band logo printed across my chest. I'd _coincidentally_ dressed in Jasper's Specials T-shirt, sans bra.

I waited.

Alice watched.

I cleared my throat and folded my arms across my chest.

"So, what is it? What's your secret, Bella?" she asked, tapping her fingers on the tabletop.

"Excuse me?" I asked. I'd been expecting an apology.

Alice took a seat at the table and folded her hands in front of her.

"Do you have a magic pussy? Does it talk? Can you queef his name? I mean, it's gotta be something original. You could shave his initials into your pubes and it wouldn't make a difference. Don't ask me how I know that."

My mouth hung open as I took a seat across from her. I wouldn't run to Edward. I wouldn't dive across the kitchen table, scream obscenities and pull her hair. I went with the truth.

"All I do is love him."

"Of course. _Everyone_ loves him. But -"

"No," I argued, stopping her short. "I love him. I think it's different."

"Listen, Bella. That's sweet, but you don't know what you're talking about."

"Listen, _Alice_. You can't talk to me like that, okay? Do you think just because you're really old, you can tell me how I feel?"

Alice smirked. "Touché, kiddo. Nice one."

"I didn't do anything to make you hate me and I don't appreciate your insinuations."

"I don't hate you," Alice sighed. "I don't _get_ you. And I don't want another person to watch out for. This, here," she said as she swept her hand in a circle over her head to indicate everything in the apartment. "This is a recipe for disaster. I've picked up enough pieces. They don't pay me enough for this."

"I thought you were friends."

"Funny, that's what Edward used to say about you. The lines blur sometimes, kiddo."

Alice gazed out the window sighed. Now that her anger had subsided, she simply looked tired and worried. Her matte make-up hid most of the lines, but not all of them. And I thought I saw a hint of silver near the roots of her spiky, black hair. Suddenly she looked eons older than Edward. I tried to remember how old she was, but came up with nothing – just that Emmett said Alice specialized in clean-up, specifically man-boy situations.

"Edward and Jasper are nothing alike," I said, taking a guess at the real source of her bitterness.

Alice laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "Just because you're a baby, doesn't mean you have a fresh new magical take on our lives. Stay out of it, Bella."

I shrugged. What Alice said was fair enough. I had no idea what went on with Jasper Whitlock. Edward wouldn't even speak his name.

"I'm supposed to apologize," Alice said coolly.

"Sounds good," I agreed, staring her down.

"You're something, kiddo. That's for sure. I'm sorry. All better?"

I relaxed a little in my chair, unwilling to forgive so easily, uncertain what to say.

"You love him?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Do him a favor, then. Tell him not to push this album. I see where this is going and it worries me."

xXxXx

There comes a time when you can only blame yourself. Ignorance is only a defense for so long.

I can say that I didn't know the lies Aro was spreading throughout the music industry. It's true; I didn't. Edward kept that from me, whether to protect me, or from pride, or a combination of the two.

I can say that I didn't fully understand the knife's edge Edward was balanced on. I didn't know what the pressure of recording, editing and listening to criticism might do to his psyche.

Alice did.

But Alice didn't sleep with Edward, either. She didn't have newfound reassurance every morning, waking up tangled in his long limbs. She wasn't there that first time he kept me with him in his bed.

She knew I loved Edward, but she wasn't there. I was.

That morning in mid-November I woke slowly, warmed by the sunshine and Edward's body, tickled by his fingertips as they brushed my hair from my face. I could sense his eyes on me and I pretended I was still asleep, content to bask in his attention.

"I love you, Bella Swan," he whispered. "I don't know if I can let you go."

There was nothing wrong in my world. No one could convince me otherwise.

xXxXx

Everything was falling into place that fall. Edward loved me. I was finishing up my semester with a 4.0. Edward loved me. Rosalie and Emmett would hang out at the apartment and we'd all watch movies together. Edward loved me. And then there was Seth…

I fish through the box on my nightstand and pull out a postcard of the Golden Gate Bridge.

**Dear Bella,**

**I'm going out on a limb sending this. Was that you in Rolling Stone with Edward Cullen? **

**If so, I hope it means you'll get this, because I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.**

**I'm sorry. I know those words aren't enough. Nothing is, really. I miss you. I wish you were here with me (unless you're really with Edward Cullen, then I would totally sacrifice my happiness to have you rocking out with a rock star). **

**Either way, I miss my friend.**

**I'd love to hear from you,**

**Seth**

Edward was pissy and uncommunicative after that postcard showed up at the apartment. He threw it on my desk and stomped away, slamming the door behind him. I cornered him in the library as he sulked in a corner, pretending to read one of his sci-fi novels.

He ignored me, even when I climbed onto the couch.

"Seth's just a friend."

"I read as much," he spat.

"It wasn't your mail to read!"

"It was a postcard, Bella. I'm not blind."

"Nothing like that's going on between me and Seth," I said, nudging his leg, trying to make him look at me.

"Not now," he huffed.

"Not ever, Edward." I tried to pull the book out of his hands, but he clutched at it hard enough that his knuckles went white.

"He fucking lived with you for a year," he growled to his novel. "Don't tell me nothing happened."

"I lived _here_ for a year and nothing happened," I countered.

"That's different," he argued, slamming the book shut and glaring at me over the rim of his glasses.

"Yeah, it's totally different, Edward. Seth's gay."

Edward blinked.

I scooted closer. I climbed onto his lap.

"He's gay," I repeated. This time he let me throw the book on the floor.

Edward's hands sought out my hips. I watched as he fought his mood. I kissed his nose.

"He's gay."

Edward smiled, albeit reluctantly.

"He's gay?"

I nodded. His smile grew.

"I've been jealous of a gay man for the past two years?"

"Two years!"

"Two fucking years," he murmured, pulling me closer.

"Really?"

"You didn't know?"

I shook my head and took off his glasses. He wrapped his arms around me.

"I hoped," I admitted.

"And now you're here," he said, as his hands slipped down over my ass. I wriggled. He groaned.

"And Seth is gay," I reminded him.

"And you're mine," he murmured, pulling my body flush with his.

"I am. Yours."

_Forever_, I added silently. I was sure I'd be his forever.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

Why didn't we stay kissing forever?

Long after it was over, years after we'd stopped _kissing_, I was still certain he'd never give himself to anyone else. Of course, that was unfair. I was engaged to be married. I'd certainly tried to move on.

I tried. I failed. He'd never planned on kissing me forever. It was never an option that he explored.

With Edward's marriage to Kate, I broke all over again. I faltered. I understood that I was the one that would never move on. My heart continued beating to the tune of Edward's soul.

**September 12****th****, 1998 – I have a feeling Alice has some answers.**

After three days spent wallowing in my own self-pity, I pulled myself together just enough to keep my meeting with Alice. It wasn't for professional purposes. She was the one person I knew that had regular, constant contact with Edward. As much as it might hurt, I needed answers.

Alice was on the phone when I arrived at her office. She waved me in, indicating that I should take a seat and wait. I toyed with the idea of keeping my sunglasses on to hide my puffy eyes as I wandered through her office looking at all the pictures of rocks stars she'd worked with, checking out her cabinets of awards, finally settling on a picture of Alice and Jasper together.

Alice had her little arms wrapped tightly around Jasper's neck. She was beaming at the camera, while he was gazing at her instead. Despite so many years spent in and out of rehabs, their love had prevailed. They were still together almost ten years after he'd hit rock bottom. I choked back a sob. That's what I'd secretly hoped for with Edward and I.

I heard Alice's phone click into its cradle and I wiped my eyes, determined to act like a grown-up.

"Everything's on track with _Punk Rock Heart_, Bella, and now it's time to focus on the next one. We need a deal before the election. Lesbians, adoption… not gonna happen with a Republican win."

"Alice, come on," I said without turning around. No amount of wiping would stop the steady stream of tears that was suddenly running down my cheeks.

"Even Hollywood has its limits, Bella. Execs are going to take one look at that-"

"Alice, stop!"

Given a chance, Alice would power through the meeting with without coming up for air... Especially when there were topics she might want to avoid, certain specific topics of conversation that might leave her in an awkward position. I'm not talking the lotus position, either.

"Sorry, Bella," she said in a softer voice, one laced with understanding.

I heard her chair scrape across the floor and the soft tapping of her heels as she made her way over to me.

She rested her hand on my shoulder, the same hand that clutched the love of her life in the picture I was staring at. I had the irrational desire to throw it against the wall. It wasn't fair that Alice got the fairytale ending. It was never supposed to be Alice.

Jasper was a junkie.

I was Edward's everything. He was my forever.

"You knew," I whispered, trying my damndest not to cry.

When she didn't answer, I finally found the will to turn around. The look on Alice's face said it all.

"I can't believe you knew! I can't believe you didn't say anything to me! I thought we were friends! Why? Why would -"

I stopped myself in an effort to catch my breath. I clutched the chair beside me for support. Pictures of celebrities swam around me: Adam Ant, Ozzy Ozzborne, Sinead O'Connor. Edward Cullen wasn't there. She'd removed all evidence of him ten years ago. She'd tried to keep him a secret. I couldn't help but feel betrayed.

Alice nudged me into the chair and settled across from me.

"I knew they were seeing one another, Bella. But that… _thing_ last week was a surprise."

"That _thing?_ That wedding, you mean? The one where… Edward got married? To Kate fucking Denali?"

"The wedding was… unexpected," Alice agreed, morosely.

"But he was seeing her! Dating her exclusively. _ I_ didn't know. _I _didn't have a clue. I'm just walking around San Francisco obliviously and -"

"Bella, Bella!" Alice said, taking my hand, trying to make eye contact. I pushed her away. I hated her, but I wanted to know everything at the same time. So, I worked to stay quiet, tearing at one of the stupid, animal print pillows piled on the stupid, red-velvet chair.

"You told him not to contact you, Bella. I know you're less than pleased with the fact that Edward and I are still in touch from time to time. You're engaged. Mentioning Edward's dating habits seemed in poor taste, more likely to make you angry than anything else."

"But Kate Denali?" I asked. I'd had three days. I wasn't stupid. I'd managed to put two and two together, even while I grieved. "Alice, was he always…" My voice faltered. I couldn't get the rest of the question out. I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"You know they ran in the same circles in the early eighties, Bella. I'm sure you know what that means."

I shook my head. That wasn't what I was getting at. Edward fucked hundreds of people before we met. That never mattered.

"After… everything in '90, Alice… did he… go to _her_… in England?" I looked at my hands. I'd managed to bore a whole right through the zebra-striped pillow.

"I don't know. Edward and I weren't speaking then, Bella."

"You weren't?"

"I'm working for _you_, Bella. I chose my side a long time ago."

"I always figured you were part of his deal."

"Excuse me?" Alice asked, hard as nails all of the sudden.

"Part of his… parting gift," I explained.

"I'm no man's booby prize, Bella Swan! Not then and not now."

"Really? He didn't ask you to -"

"He certainly did not!"

"Oh."

"Booby prize," she mumbled, leaning across her desk and pulling out a cigarette case. She offered me one, and I have to say, after the past three days, I was tempted. I waved her off though. I didn't need lung cancer and a broken heart.

"So, can I ask, why now? Why, after all these years? Why Kate Denali?"

"I think you know the answer, Bella. They started dating late last winter, as far as I know. After he left New York. After your book signing. It was all very quiet."

"He's always very quiet about dating," I agreed.

"Except with you, Bella. He was never quiet with you."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

I know all the answers now. Edward didn't marry Kate Denali just because I was engaged. I'm pretty sure it's why they dated, though. They married for another reason. My heart didn't break when I found out why. It had already gone into hiding. As far as I could tell, it was dead back then.

Beating, but dead.

I hated him. I hated myself for pushing him away. I hated myself for my ability to fool myself so thoroughly. My engagement to Tyler changed so many lives.

I sit on my front porch with my coffee mug, basking in my solitary Saturday. I watch the ripple effect of each of my decisions, like little tugboats and the breakers on the bay. For some of us, it ended well. I think about Tyler and his wife and family. He might never have met her if he'd gone ahead and married me. For others, things are finally beginning to right themselves. For a fatherless little girl left to wonder, there's still so much uncertainty for her to wade through. Her story isn't over, though. I'm sure Edward will try to set that right.

For my Little One, I'll find a way to let her know that happily ever afters are hard to come by, sometimes. Life isn't a fairy tale, punk rock, or otherwise. People fuck up. People die. People break your heart. Yet, despite all of that, following your heart is never wrong.

That's a hard pill to swallow, though. That's exactly what I'd told Jake when he came to me and finally admitted his feelings for Seth.

"Following your heart is never wrong," I'd said over dinner. "You're going to make his decade, Jake."

Jake shrugged self-consciously. He was still handsome, especially with his military buzz cut and in his uniform. They'd obviously have quite a few hurdles ahead of them, but I couldn't deny that they'd always been in love. Finally, Jake wasn't denying it either. We giggled through the rest of dinner. Jake plotted about what he'd say, where they'd finally settle down.

It didn't turn out like I'd hoped. Not at all.

**May 10****th****, 2004 – No words today.**

I didn't notice Edward at first. Seth was the one to nudge me and point in the direction of the scraggly bushes lining the drive.

I hadn't seen the man in years, and now, of all days…

"Oh my god," I gasped.

He was wearing a charcoal gray suit, a trench coat and dark sunglasses, but even dressed like some Wall Street businessman, there was no denying it was Edward. I mean, he still couldn't keep his hair under control.

"Did you tell him?" Seth asked as the priest droned on.

"No!" I hissed back.

People shifted where they stood. A child whined. An older man I didn't know gave Seth and I a dirty look.

Edward nodded when he saw me watching him. I don't know why, but that pissed me off more than anything. The man thought he could just nod after I hadn't seen him in seven years? He thought he could just show up at Jake's funeral?

He had a hell of a lot of nerve.

As soon as the services were over, I left Seth without a word and marched over to Edward, intercepting him before he could wander amongst Jake's family and friends.

"What the hell?" I hissed, pulling him toward the road.

"I had to make sure you're okay," he said, looking me over, like he'd find some hint of 'okay' in my black dress and sensible shoes.

"To make sure I'm '_okay_'? Do you think I'm '_okay_'?"

"Bella, I -"

"To always come back to fuck with me, is more like it! You don't get to fuck with my entire existence, Edward Cullen! You don't belong here!"

A few people turned to look at the two of us. I hadn't realized I'd been raising my voice. I took Edward by the elbow and tugged him further away from the crowd.

"I haven't seen you in -" he began.

"Exactly! You're not here. You left. You're _married_. And… and… you don't get to come back and break me again, and again and again! The world's not your sunny fucking playground, Edward. Someone's dead. It's not all about you."

"You're hurt, mourning… I just wish -"

"You can wish all you fucking want, but you were right. Wishing doesn't change anything. Some things you never get back."

My eyes teared as I thought about Jake and Seth – what they'd never have again. Hell, I'll admit it, I was crying for what Edward and I had lost too.

"Bella, don't -"

"Don't '_Bella_' me! I lied, but Jesus Christ… you take lying to a whole new level. Get the fuck out of here."

I pointed toward the road. I wondered how he'd gotten to the cemetery way out on the east end of Long Island. I hoped he could make a quick get away.

"I never lied," he said quietly.

"_Enough_. Go back to England. Stop leaving Kate for me. I'm sure she doesn't enjoy playing second fiddle to your desire to fuck with my head."

"I left Kate."

"I can see that," I snapped.

"I left her, for good, Bella. Kate and I were together for the wrong reasons."

My heart lurched, but I ignored it. It didn't matter. In fact, the idea that he'd walked away from his family made me even more sickened.

Of course, that disdain had no impact on my love for Edward… My stupid, blind, foolish love. I was disgusted with the two of us.

"Well, maybe _now_ you'll get a taste of being alone," I snarled.

"There was only one time in my life when I wasn't alone, Bella."

"Does Elizabeth know you feel that way?"

Edward's eyes widened in shock. He looked over his shoulder like he might find her waiting in the shadow of a pine tree. "Don't bring her into this."

"Get out of here, Edward. Stop reminding me of what I'll never have. Go live your lonely, sucky life and leave me the hell out of it."

xXxXx

No one should have to tell the love of their life to leave more than once. No one should be as hurt as I was by the love of their life.

Why didn't we stay kissing forever?

The answer is staring at me in the form of pages of blank notebook paper.

The answer was never written down. I couldn't.

My diary entries end in March and pick up again four months later. In that first entry, my handwriting was shaky and uncertain. It was dated July 1st, 1990. I remember writing again for the first time at a coffee shop in San Francisco.

I tried to wipe the slate clean. I tried to forget. I never mentioned what happened. I wasn't successful; I remember. For that, I'm grateful.

_I am. _

Before I can figure out exactly how I should explain things to my daughter, I have to be able to face things myself.

I haven't been able to write for days, now. I finally understand why. There's something I've been holding inside that needs writing down.

There's only one thing in our entire relationship that isn't present in that box on my nightstand. There's a journal entry or two that needs filling in.

I glance at my desk and power up my laptop. I pour a glass of wine. I find a box of macaroons in the cupboard. I sit down to write. I have twenty-four hours.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for voting for TiaL for Fic of the Month over at The Lemonade Stand. We won! WooHoo! This little story was up against so many amazing fics by authors that I know & love. I'm seriously blown away by your support.**

**Thanks to everyone that's talked about this fic, PM'ed, Tweeted, and I don't know - wrote smoke signals in the sky. You make each and every week so much more fun than the one before.**

**I'm not on Twilighted much, but I hear there's a discussion there. I'm not on ADF either, but I've been told people talk about TiaL there too. There's also a group on facebook. I'm there far too often. Hit me up for the info. That's where I tease, and that's where people talk about TiaL and do complicated math with years and months and timelines 24 hours a day. That's where Teaser Wars with Fiction Freak93 and Troublefollows happen.  
><strong>

**This chapter bugged the hell out of me. Bella wasn't ready to spill the beans. Next week I'm slipping her some Valium and tying her to her desk chair.**

**Until then, xxx, M**


	14. I Know It's Over

**A/N: Happy Birthday, Jaime Arkin! Now I'm gonna make you cry. Sorry.**

**Team TiaL wrapped their virtual arms around me when I didn't think I could write this. Thank You!**

_**I Know It's Over**_** by The Smiths can be found here: ht tp : / / www . /watch?v=P2e7dpVDX54**

* * *

><p><strong>It was a dark and stormy winter.<strong>

I giggle and take a sip of wine and erase what I've written. _Face it, Bella. Write it down._

My mind keeps trying to shrink from the task at hand. I've avoided these words for more than twenty years, but avoiding them doesn't make them disappear. Your experiences don't have to be written down on a page in order for them to have existed. My entire life is a testament to the past - to _this_ past; to the piece of it I'd like to obviate.

I take a deep breath and try again.

**Edward was dark and stormy that winter.**

Yes, that's closer to the truth.

Edward's mood matched the weather in late fall of 1989: ominous, dark, and gray. When I think about that time in our lives I see swirling clouds circling around bright green eyes.

Of course, Edward's mood didn't change overnight. Looking back, I can see the signs, but when I was there with him in that apartment, living it, I tried to ignore the subtle changes. His tendency towards frustration, his despair over not getting the album recorded quickly enough, his growing need to stay locked up in his room when things didn't go exactly as planned… these signs were eclipsed by the way I'd catch him gazing at me from across a room, or the way he'd hold me after we had sex.

By the end of that fall, I was passing long hours at school: studying, researching, and trying to end the semester on a strong note. Edward spent much of his time in the studio. It was like he had an arbitrary deadline in his mind, and he worked against the clock to make that album a reality.

Now I know Edward wasn't fighting a clock, he was fighting himself. He knew that he didn't have much time. He knew that _we_ didn't have much time. Hell, everyone knew. I was the only one that wouldn't admit it.

Often, when I was at home, it was almost like my first year at Edward's apartment, where I'd wander through empty rooms, searching for evidence that he'd ever been there. Alice would show up with increasing frequency, unannounced and grumbling about escalating costs and artistic differences, eying me accusingly.

I hadn't told Edward to abandon the album like she'd asked. I couldn't. Edward was completely dedicated to his work, and it was beautiful, at that. In a way, the album was the story of Edward and I; it was dreamy and happy, and intricate and confusing. I loved it, and I loved him, and maybe it was self-serving, but I wanted the world to hear that.

"You're staying?" Alice asked one day as we sat across the kitchen table from one another, once again waiting on Edward.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"If you're going to see this through, just take care, okay?"

"Alice, I don't -"

She didn't let me argue, though. Instead, she took the opportunity to finally try to explain Edward's 'instability'. She swore me to secrecy and told me about the first time Edward tried to kill himself - how she found him naked, high and bleeding. There was the time he went after Jasper with a knife, and it took Emmett, Caius and Marcus to hold him back. There were times he went missing for weeks, only to show up filthy, skinny, and near dead.

I shook my head. Her words were meaningless. I let them go right through me.

"Please listen," she pled. "I see how you look at him, I see how much he holds on to you, but he's alone for a reason. You… you're vulnerable here. Emmett and I can't watch you all the time."

"He'd never hurt me, Alice," I insisted.

"Here's my number," she said, passing a card across the table. "I know a thing or two about staying. It's not easy, kiddo. But I get it, though, and I'm here if you need me."

Edward would show up at random hours, tense and angry-looking, but when he'd curl up with me on the sofa, he'd soften – his limbs, his mood, his lips as they met mine. He'd kiss me and hold me, and we'd talk in hushed voices, telling one another about our days spent apart.

He wasn't dangerous. He wasn't suicidal. He was in love. With me.

I could sense Alice's watchful eyes on us, but I tried to ignore her. Our lives had nothing to do with her. Edward was happier by my side. Everyone's fatalistic talk about moods was clearly unfounded. He simply needed me, and I needed him right back. Obviously, each of us had been what was missing in one another's lives. Cuddled up under a throw together, reading books by the fire, we were found.

Alice would pull him away all the time, though. She'd force him back to reality. I got the sense that she didn't play around. If Edward was serious about putting out a solo album, she was serious about making it a success. I tried to stay out of their way, but sometimes it was hard not to overhear them talking.

"_This isn't exactly the way things are done, Edward."_

"_This is the way_ I_ want it done."_

"_It's not your decision to make. What does _she_ want?"_

"_She wants this. She just doesn't know she can have it."_

"_Maybe you should tell her."_

"_Maybe you should mind your business."_

"_This_ is_ my business. You made it my business."_

He'd almost always come out of those meetings upset. Alice would storm out, shaking her head. At first I tried discussing it all with Edward - the intricacies of recording, mixing, editing, marketing, distributing - and about Alice's part in all of it, but it only made him turn away from me as well. So, I let it drop. I decided that I'd be his refuge from that part of his life. I never pushed.

"Are you going home after finals?" Edward asked one night as he clung to me.

"Where's home?" I asked as my fingers slid down his arm, taking his hand in mine.

Flames flickered in the fireplace. Rain pelted against the windowpanes. Edward didn't answer; he simply watched me carefully, waiting.

"I haven't spoken to my mother in close to a year. My dad's more interested in his beer than in his daughter. You're my home, Edward."

He sighed and held me tight.

"I get to keep you through the winter then?" he asked.

"Longer, even."

I held back the word 'forever', but my heart knew it with certainty. No matter where I went, I'd given away a piece of myself. It was irrevocable. He'd have me for the rest of his life.

"We don't have to stay here, though," I murmured, my head resting on his chest. "I don't have school, and this album's… stressing you out. We could go somewhere, right? Somewhere you might be happy."

"Happy," he laughed. "We'll give it a go."

We went to the beach. Newport Beach, Rhode Island at Christmastime was deserted, cold and gray. Sleet fell in sheets from the sky and biting wind swirled off of the water. After five minutes outside my body felt like it was covered with a thin sheen of ice.

The suite at the hotel was overdone and ridiculously ornate. The bathroom was all gold and marble, the couches in the sitting room were upholstered in crushed velvet, and there were tassels on the drapes. Our bed had tall posters and a canopy and the walls were papered in silk.

Seeing Edward in the mist of it all, in his hoodie, ripped T-shirt and torn jeans, it was ridiculous and I couldn't stop laughing. So, I pulled off his clothes… and then I felt like some Victorian wench being defiled by her aristocratic rapscallion.

The silver tea service that came with room service only enhanced my silly fantasy. I dreamed about buying silk stockings and corsets, or those slips they were always wearing in Victorian movies, with the ties in the front that always came undone so you could get a handful or a mouthful of boob. Then Edward would be able to ravage me in style.

We didn't make it to many stores, though. We mostly stayed inside by the fire. We slept late and woke to room service and old black and white movies.

When I couldn't get Edward out of bed, when he pulled the blankets over his head, I'd coax him out with breakfast, coffee, kisses and my bare skin pressed against his. He'd reluctantly smile. I'd turn on something quiet, something like Chopin's Etudes, and I'd open the shades so we could see the clouds moving across the sky in different shades of gray, and how it met the churning Atlantic below.

I'd climb under the covers and pop a piece of pastry in Edward's mouth, and he'd hold me, trace his fingers between my breasts, down to my naval, and then it was best to move the coffee and the food.

Sometimes we braved the weather and walked along the beach hand-in-hand, with bowed heads, our voices swallowed up by the crash of the breakers. We'd hide out near the lighthouse, sipping the hot chocolate we found at the only café that was open for the season.

"You can leave whenever you want, Bella," he said to me one afternoon as we huddled on a bench.

"Leave?" I asked like I had no earthly idea what he was talking about, snuggling into his side. Denial like that is so easy when you're young.

"This is where I'd ask anyone else to leave. But I don't know if I can make you. I don't know…"

"Edward, please -" I began to beg, feeling suddenly desperate, but before I could tell him that I wasn't going anywhere, that I would never need to go anywhere, he interrupted me.

"Leaving was never an option when I was a kid. My father… I took off, though, eventually, when I saw another cycle coming on. The signs are unmistakable when you've known them since birth. My mother, though, she never escaped."

"Your dad?" I asked.

"It took a while, but I finally realized there are some things I can't fight. I'm my father's son. His moods, his rage, his stupid self-destructive behavior… it was passed down to me. You're stronger than my mother, though. You can leave. Don't let me keep you."

"Don't you get it?" I argued. "I don't want to go anywhere. Where would I go?"

He wouldn't look at me, though. He stared off into the icy wind, instead.

"Wherever you want. I promise."

"I don't want to go!" I yelled, frightening a murder of crows clustered on the jetty.

"I don't want you to go either, Bella."

At least that's what I heard Edward say. I couldn't be certain of anything given the cawing and the wind and the waves.

"I'm going to try, though," he added to himself.

I didn't have the heart to ask what Edward was going to try to do: try to keep me, or try to let me go. He was moodier, but it was nothing like the deadly self-destructive behavior Alice had described. I could explain it all easily away… He was going solo after more than ten years with The Masens. He was moving in a different musical direction. He was frustrated with the lack of progress with the album.

I wanted so badly for that to be the truth. I wanted to think that I was enough to save us both. I tried. I tried very, very hard.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

I take a break and look at the clock. It's been two hours since I sat down. Two hours lost in the past. Two hours dredging up romantic naïveté. Two hours examining the parts that both Edward and I played in it all.

When I used to re-examine the past, I'd come away saying that Edward should have cut his fatalistic crap and tried to get help, instead. Of course, I didn't know at the time that he had done just that. That fall he'd started seeing a therapist for the first time in years. I learned about that much, much later. No one knew at the time, not Alice, not Emmett, not me.

Even so, Edward didn't want to get my hopes up. In fact, he treated my hopes like rocks on the shore. He tried to break them, with wave upon wave of relentless warnings. Then he'd cling to me, though, like he secretly prayed he was wrong. He wanted it to work too. He had hopes just like I did; he simply wouldn't admit it.

In the end it turned out that it would take more than warnings to break both of our hopes, and to break our hearts.

I stand up and stretch. I refill my glass of wine. I walk around the house and loosen my limbs. I'm stalling, but I tell myself that I'm taking the time to appreciate the evidence that I was able to move on, eventually. My life: my house, my daughter, my friends, are all proof that I didn't break. Maybe I came out of it all with broken hopes, but was intact in who I was.

I eventually picked up the pieces. I know that I have Edward to blame for the heartfail, but in a way, I also owe everything I have to him as well.

I wander into the bedroom. The contents of his box are scattered over my bed. Over the past week everything has been unearthed. It's left me a churning, uneasy mess of a human being, but it's part of the process. It feels necessary.

I pick the eight by twelve, flat box out of the rubble and smile. I even kept the navy blue bow he'd tied around it. I take both back to the office. I need to write, and if I sit on the bed with that box, I'll get lost in more memories.

xXxXx

**Christmas 1989 – Newport Beach, Rhode Island**

Edward and I stayed shut in our suite for Christmas. When I first woke him with kisses, running my hands through his hair and wrapping my arms around his body, he pretended he didn't know what day it was. I was excited, though. I'd thought endlessly about what to get a man that could have everything he wanted at his fingertips. I settled on part of myself. I disentangled my limbs from his, ran across the room and popped a cassette tape into the stereo.

I'd wrangled one of Edward's new tracks from Alice. It was the first piece I'd heard him playing on the piano that previous summer, the one he'd tinker with alone at night… before he started spending his nights with me.

I wrote a story to go along with that piano piece. It was similar to the one that had gone missing from my notebook, except this one was more personal. This man and woman resembled Edward and I much more closely, and it didn't end in certain tragedy. It was the story of a girl that idolized a man, and how she only grew to love him once she got to know him. It was about how this certain, nameless girl figured out that the man was even better than she could have imagined, once he came down from the pedestal and stood before her, simply because he was real – imperfect and flawed.

Edward read along and laughed, but there were tears in his eyes. He kissed me on the nose and rifled around in the nightstand on his side of the bed. I was silly, I closed my eyes as he placed a flat box in my hands… tied with a ribbon.

"Open it," he whispered in my ear, wrapping an arm around my bare waist.

Inside I found two of the stories I'd written that fall, but they were typed and bound. "What -" I began to ask.

"Keep reading," he urged, picking up the pages, unveiling letters underneath.

Official letters… from the editors of esteemed literary magazines. They were official letters addressed to me.

**Dear Ms. Swan…**

"The Hudson Review and… The New Yorker! The New Yorker? Edward, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. They'll expect to hear back from you after the holidays."

"I'm going to be published, _twice_? Who did you talk to? How did you do this?"

"I just had Alice act as your agent. I told you, Bella, you have no idea of your worth. There's so much intricate beauty in that pretty little head of yours… it's all you. Everything is yours to take. You should meet with Alice next week. There's an editorial process, of course, and I imagine it will be months before these are published. Of course, you could decline their offers if you…"

I threw myself at Edward, tackling him to the bed.

"I'm going to be published?" I asked, as he let me pin him down.

Edward smiled and nodded and knotted his hands in my hair. We made love on top of the pages of my stories that told of how deeply I'd fallen in love, about how it felt when one loved unconditionally. The papers wrinkled and tore beneath us to the sound of Edward's piano playing.

xXxXx

Returning to New York wasn't easy for either of us. Edward tried to throw himself back into his work, but it was like there was some big magnet pulling him deeper into himself. I'm almost certain there were days when he'd stare at the walls. I'd tempt him out of the house with wet walks through Central Park. We'd bundle up in sweaters and scarves and clutch each other's hands, bracing against the harsh winter wind. The freezing rain would force us to seek refuge under bridges and he'd kiss me against the dirty concrete as horse and carriages carrying tourists rolled by.

We'd drink bad coffee and share a warm pretzel or roasted nuts and curl up on a bench. He told me stories about the road: about bars in Texas, flat tires in the California dessert, and earthquakes in Japan. It didn't take long to figure out that everything was edited, though. There was no mention of the kind of things you'd expect to hear from rock stars: parties, women, drugs… or band mates, even.

"I can take it, you know," I told him one afternoon as we sat on the wall by the lake and he finished up a story about a night in Vegas that didn't include a single bare boob, or even much drinking.

Edward offered me the bag of roasted cashews he'd been monopolizing. "Fine, take my nuts. You have me by the balls, anyway." he laughed.

I threw a cashew at him.

"I'm not an idiot. I don't need the PG version of Edward Cullen. I just want to know you."

Edward looked away rather than answer. I felt his signature hardness and heaviness returning. It could sweep in from nowhere those days.

"There's nothing you could say to make me change my mind about you," I reminded him.

"All that shit… I'd rather not go there. I want something different."

"Without all of it, though, who's to say I'd be here with you today?" I asked, testing out a new theory of mine.

Edward laughed out loud and threw the rest of his cashews into the lake.

"I fucking guarantee you're not sitting next to me because of one night in Vegas, six grams of coke, and three women in the back of a limo."

I nearly choked on his nuts.

"Or did I lure you into my life when you saw my ruined veins?" he asked, rolling up a coat sleeve and holding out an arm "Fucking hot, I know. Right?"

I stared at his bare arm as it grew red in the cold air. I'd never thought twice about his veins. Was something wrong with his veins?

"Half-truths are as good as lies in my book," I said quietly.

"I wouldn't lie. Not to you," he insisted.

I rolled down his sleeve and then he let me hold his hand.

"Then tell a whole story?"

"Ask," he sighed and looked out over the lake.

It wasn't the way I wanted it to happen. I just wanted to know him completely, not poke at his secrets.

"How many… others?" I tried. I figured there were at least three… in a limo in Vegas with lots of cocaine.

Edward gave me this look like I'd just asked the square root of nine thousand seventy-two. "There's no one but you. You're all I think about."

"But -"

"I don't fucking know."

"Anyone that I might -"

"I lived a fucking lifetime before you turned ten, Bella. What do you want me to say? Should I count off the dozens like donuts?"

We fell silent. Some swans paddled over, but we were out of nuts. I sipped at my cold coffee and hoped they didn't try to bite. Swans in Central Park did that sometimes.

"Okay, then… what about… _Jasper_?"

Edward's face went a whiter shade of pale. The pink disappeared from his cheeks.

"Alice… she doesn't say, but it doesn't sound… good," I pressed.

Edward stared at his lap.

"Heroin is useful when you're so high you can't sleep or when you need to focus in order to sing fifteen songs from beginning to end," Edward said quietly. "Heroin reminds you that you have a body when you're all up here." He tapped the side of his head.

"Then, when you can't get out of bed, when you can't leave the tour bus, cocaine will get you up and out. It'll make you smile for an audience. It'll make you the most charismatic fucker in the room."

"But, you don't do drugs."

"No, not anymore. It's easier for some people to stop than it is for others. Jasper… not so much. Not ever, as far as I can tell."

"Oh."

"We did everything together… until he turned into a fucking idiot," Edward spat.

"Um..."

Edward took a deep breath and slid closer. "I prefer the other stories. Stories without addicted assholes, stories that don't involve meaningless fucking. Okay?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's just that -"

"Someday I want to tell stories about you. About us. Someday I wish we could look back and say, 'Remember that day when I kissed you for the first time?'"

"Me too," I agreed, falling against Edward, warming myself in his embrace. "But_ I_ kissed _you_."

Edward smiled down at me. It had been so long since I'd seen him smile that my heart fluttered. "You already do, Bella. You tell those stories. You tell beautiful, dirty stories that are going to make you famous."

"I don't know about that," I demurred.

"Which part don't you know about?" Edward asked, pulling me onto his lap. "Beautiful, dirty or famous?"

"Well, definitely dirty," I agreed, giggling.

xXxXx

I stare at the glowing screen, looking over the words I've just written. My eyes settle on the last period of the last sentence. It holds so much finality. It marks the ending of what was, quite possibly, the last peacefully secure moment that I remember spending with Edward.

Afterwards, he threw himself back into his work with renewed vigor, and it frustrated him to no end. His smiles disappeared completely, and they were replaced with groans of frustration and orders barked into the receiver of the phone.

I began my spring semester at NYU and also started meeting with Alice about the publication of my short stories. She was more than encouraging about my writing and began mapping out a career trajectory that left me completely breathless and overwhelmed.

Seth and I wrote back and forth a few times. He'd been in touch with Jake and the two of them wanted to meet up with me when Jake was in town for Fleet Week. After nearly two years, I was excited to see them both. Of course, I was also more than a little curious about what was going on between them. I was kind of worried, too. Edward was all over the place. I didn't really know what to expect from him, especially where Jake was concerned, the only other guy I'd ever really been with.

Of course, it turned out that it was never really an issue. There were other… _issues_ - ones big enough to overshadow everything else in my life for years to come.

Right, the issues... We're just about there.

For me those issues began with a phone call.

I was at the apartment messing around with an outline for a story Alice thought had the potential for a full-fledged novel. I'd just about given up for the time being and decided to sneak in some 120 Minutes while Edward was out. He never would have let me live that down. He wasn't exactly a fan of Downtown Julie Brown, not since that time she threw up on Edward's combat boots. Long story.

When the phone rang, I totally thought that Edward was somehow onto me. I actually turned off the T.V. before I answered the phone. It wasn't Edward on the other end of the line, though.

"_Hey, Trouble?"_ Emmett rasped, like he was trying to keep his voice down.

"Emmett?"

"_You think you could get yourself down to the studio kinda quick? Like, maybe hop in a cab immediately?" _

"Emmett?"

"_We need you, kid. The sooner the better."_

I'd never been to the studio where Edward was recording, so it took precious minutes for me to find the yellow pages, figure out where recording studios were listed, and then find a blank piece of paper to jot down the address. I ran out of the house in just a tank top, scarf and gloves, clutching cab money in my hand.

I knew something was wrong as soon as I stepped off the elevator into the lobby of the studio. The worried-looking, greasy kid at the front desk buzzed me right back without so much as a word. I didn't have to ask where I should go, either. I could hear the yelling before I'd even made it down the hall.

Edward's angry voice scared the shit out of me, to be honest.

"_You're not fucking with that goddamned track!"_

Urgent voices interrupted, but they were much quieter and I couldn't hear what they were saying.

"_It's marketable whether or not you change the fucking sound from blue to fucking yellow. It's an asinine idea, and it's fucking with my goddamned work! I don't need assholes stepping in here and telling me -"_

More low voices tumbled down the hall. Something shattered. A door slammed and two kids with colorfully dyed hair and baggy jeans ran past me down the hall.

Emmett wasn't far behind. He rushed to meet me, wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me down the hall towards the argument.

"I called when I saw it start to go south," he explained quickly. "He'd never listen to me. I just thought, I don't know… he's so chill with you. You could, I don't know, get him to get the fuck out of there without a struggle. I'd drive you two off and poof, or something."

"_You motherfuckers don't have any fucking idea what music even is, do you?"_

"Maybe I should go then, Emmett. I don't even know what's -"

Something else crashed in the room down the hall and Emmett picked up the pace, dragging me along. "I've got to get in there or they're gonna call someone," he explained. "I don't want to pull him out kicking and fucking screaming and shove him forcefully into the car. Help me, kid. Okay?"

"Emmett, but what can I -"

The door was flung open and I was face to face with a couple more fleeing interns. They'd left Edward staring down a frightened and defiant handful of record execs. The glass between the mixing room and the studio was cracked, chairs lay overturned on the floor. Edward was kind of stalking closer to the pack. He was beyond angry and his hair was standing out from his head like he'd been pulling so hard and so long that it was left that way permanently.

"You're not going to fucking do that to that fucking song," he snarled.

"I don't think you're listening, Edward," one of them began.

Edward charged across the room. "I've done nothing but fucking listen!"

Emmett jumped between Edward and the record guys, holding Edward back, while the small knot of men backed up against a graffitti'ed wall. I saw that scuffle Emmett was trying to avoid, I saw the men talking in hushed voices, I saw one of them leave with a curious glance in my direction.

Emmett talked quick, whispering in Edward's ear, motioning in my direction. I shrunk against the wall. A couple of men cast worried glances at me. Then Edward's angry and frightened eyes were raking over me too.

"What in the fuck were you thinking? Get the fuck off me, Emmett! Get the fucking hell, fucking out of… Fuck!" Suddenly, instead of wrestling Emmett to fight preppy guys in khakis, Edward was struggling to get to me.

"Edward?" I asked and my tiny voice floated in the air. "Edward?"

"Who in the fuck brought her here? Why in the hell …"

I crunched over broken glass and I was by his side, pushing my body between Emmett and Edward, wrapping my arms around him and whispering in his ear. I told him that I loved him, that I was scared, and that Emmett made me come.

The men were talking in the corner, and as we were leaving, lots of interns lined the halls with mouths hanging wide, or smirking, or whispering. There was security in the lobby by the time we made it out, but they stood back as we all passed, just like the cops on the first floor.

The reporters didn't stay out of our way, though. Apparently someone had called the media. Bulbs flashed, people shoved microphones in our faces, and Emmett skillfully pushed bodies out of our way.

But the car wasn't ready and waiting like it usually was. We had to walk, and the crowd walked with us. Edward shoved people away from me. Men landed on the wet ground, on their asses; someone twisted an ankle.

"_What happened?"_

"_Who's the girl?"_

"_Is it true that you threatened Aro Volturi's life?"_

I'd find out a day or so later that, in the madness, a nipple slipped free from my tank top. Lights flashed. The rain picked up. And it may have just been three minutes later that we piled into the car, but it felt like forever.

xXxXx

That was it. Afterwards, things slipped easily away, like sand down the drain after a long day at the beach. Edward retreated to his room and locked his door. Frightened and overwhelmed, I left him alone. The tabloids, spurned by an angry and enigmatic rock star and a tantalizingly wet nipple, ran with the story.

They found people willing to talk in half-truths.

"_**Up Close and Personal with Edward Cullen's 16-year-old Sweetie"**_

"_**The Little Girl That Broke Up the Band"**_

"_**Rocker Rebels Over Recording Disaster: It Takes a Homeless Teen to Save Him"**_

I was mobbed the next day as I tried to get to class. I pushed past the press camped outside our building, but then when I left the subway station downtown near my class, I was once again overrun and jostled. Questions were thrown at me from every direction.

I tried not to cry; I tried to stay strong and quiet as I pushed against the press, and as bystanders stopped to watch the commotion, and as some kids I vaguely knew from my classes pointed and waived instead of trying to help.

NYU security guards stopped the mob at the library's entrance and once more I found refuge in row upon row of quiet stacks of classics. I'd come full circle. The library gave me shelter when I had nowhere else to turn. I waited a few hours before I ran back to the subway and took the train uptown without going to class.

"Edward?" I asked, knocking on his bedroom door.

He didn't answer.

"Edward, please?" I begged.

I tried opening it, but it was locked.

"Edward, things are a mess. Please!"

I knocked. I banged. I sat outside his room. I wondered if he was even in there. Eventually, I went to bed alone.

Emmett stepped in the very next day. I'm not sure how he knew – maybe there was some secret security underground that alerted guys like him about damsels in distress. Maybe he was simply good at his job. Maybe he'd watched the news.

"_Yo, Trouble_," he said when I picked up the phone the next morning.

"Emmett?"

"_When's your class?"_

"Me? _My_ class?"

"_Anyone else up there have a class?"_

"Um… At ten?"

"_You don't sound so sure_." he laughed.

"Yeah. Ten."

"_I'll be by at nine-thirty. Wait up there 'til I call."_

Just like that, I was suddenly the person Emmett ushered from the lobby to a waiting black sedan. Emmett pushed reporters aside and helped me into and out of the car. He cleared a path so that I could get to the lecture hall and he squeezed my hand supportively and bent his head to whisper in my ear that he'd be waiting when I was done.

Kids stared at me as I walked into class and took a seat. I'd been outed. I was Edward Cullen's girlfriend. It was more than that, though. There were the rumors. I was the girl that had been sleeping with Edward since I was in high school. I came between Edward and the rest of the band. My vagina was magical enough to change Edward's musical tastes forever. And then there was my nipple. People waited and watched like I was going to pull it out again, right in the middle of the Shakespeare Seminar.

Let me tell you, I was kind of tempted.

Every day, I'd come home from school and Edward was locked in his room. Every day the answering machine beeped with countless unanswered calls. Every day Alice checked in. Every day Emmett drove me back and forth.

Aro Vultori was suddenly very happy to speak to reporters. He told everyone how Edward's volatile behavior had torn the band asunder. He hinted that he'd seen me with Edward back in 1986.

After that, there were rumors of a criminal investigation into Edward's behavior with countless underage girls. The press went wild with exposes on what went on backstage at rock concerts and inside tour buses. Girls were interviewed that shared their salacious tales. Of course, they weren't talking about their experiences with Edward – they'd been with other rock stars, entirely. But, no one seemed to care that it had nothing to do with Edward and I. It's what people wanted to hear.

Seth wrote to ask how we were dealing with things. I lied with each and every reply.

**Dear Seth,**

_**Edward and I are getting through this together. He loves me, and he knows I love him. It's all that matters. I'm sure it's just going to bring us closer in the end. Thanks for thinking of me.**_

_**I miss you,**_

_**Bella**_

I didn't want anyone to know that I cried myself to sleep each and every night.

There was one day, though, when I came home from class and checked his door as usual, and found it unlocked.

I gasped and let go of the knob like it burned. I held my breath, pressed my ear against the door and listened, but didn't hear a thing. Then I gathered my courage, turned the knob again, and pushed the door open. The only evidence that Edward was present was the long, uneven mound underneath the covers on the bed.

My mind reeled. Was he really spending his days sleeping while I fought off the tabloid press? Did he really leave me out there all alone… so that he could sleep? Day after day I got up, got dressed and faced reporters and gaping NYU students. While he slept?

_No._

He needed to speak to me. I deserved as much. I didn't try to tiptoe as I walked across his room, dodging piles of dirty clothing, books, scattered magazines, and dirty dishes. The place was filthy and it stunk.

Edward didn't make a sound.

"Edward?" I asked.

I didn't get a reply.

My heart pounded in my chest. I considered walking back out and closing the door behind me. I considered walking away from the apartment and leaving him truly alone to pick up the pieces. That's what he wanted, right?

My heart rebelled, though. Edward said he'd try. This wasn't trying. I was the only one trying. I forced myself forward and lowered myself very gently onto the edge of his bed, almost like I was showing him that I could be present in his life without upsetting anything. I made sure my guilty nipples were covered.

"Edward, please… I can't take not talking."

"Talk to Alice or Rose," he huffed.

With five words, I was furious. The asshole was lying there, awake and aware that I was in the room. Did he know what I faced every time I tried to get to class? When was the last time he actually looked at me? When had he spoken to me last? And now, finally, I was tired of his stupid, self-pity.

"I want to talk to you, Edward."

"I don't fucking want to converse, _Bella_," he snarled, throwing my name in my face like it was some indictment.

I sprung off the bed and strode across the room.

We both had wants and needs. I wanted him. I wanted to work on this together. Okay, maybe his moods rose and fell, but I'd ride them… as long as we could face it together.

I pulled open the blinds and let in slanting gray light. It lit the dirty surfaces and showed off the thick cloud of dust suspended in the stuffy air.

"I want lots of light for this," I announced, turning around to face the bed and my hidden boyfriend. But my heart fell when I was simply met by a covered mound. What I wouldn't have given to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but jeans, ready to take me for the first time. Instead, he was curled underneath the covers, hiding and groaning, for fuck's sake.

"_I'm sorry in advance,_" he'd said that day when we'd first made love. Is this what he was sorry in advance for? For _hiding _from me?

Well,_ I _was sorry… that I hadn't broken down the door a week ago. I was sorry I'd treated Edward like a child. I was sorry I'd felt guilty about what the tabloids were saying and let him push me out as a result.

"Look at me!" I demanded.

"Fuck," Edward groaned and pulled the covers tighter.

I certainly wasn't letting a down comforter come between us. I marched over to Edward and pulled the covers away.

"Edward," I sighed. He was rumpled and unshaven and his eyes were closed tight, but he was Edward. After a week left facing things on my own, after a week without his embrace or his lips or his skin against mine, I'm pretty sure a traitorous smile snuck onto my face when I finally saw him.

Sue me. I was an idiot. I was in love. The two things are very close to being one in the same, sometimes.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, touching his face, fingers brushing stubble, bristles bringing me to life. Sorry I'd let it get this out of hand, sorry I'd bent to his will, sorry that my age and my nipple got in the way of his album.

"What the fuck for?" he snapped, pulling away.

"All this… stuff," I snorted, waving my hand around the disgusting room.

Edward coughed, rolled over on his back and covered his eyes with his arm. "Don't fucking ask for forgiveness when it's not your fucking fault."

"Jesus, Edward. Get over yourself, okay?"

"Oh my fucking god, Bella… This shit isn't about me! It's about _you_. I never wanted this. Never. I never meant for any of this..."

"Just don't make me do it alone, okay?" I asked. "Don't lay here alone. It doesn't have to be this way. It shouldn't be. You're in there; I know it. The same guy that… I know how you feel about me."

That last part came out like an accusation. Edward heard it in my voice. His eyes went wide, almost like he was frightened about what I might say.

"You love me," I told him.

I placed my hands on my hips, challenging Edward to deny it.

"You do. I know you do," I insisted. "November 22nd, 1989. You said that you loved me, you selfish prick."

"Bella -"

"Not to mention, you let me stay here - over and over and over again. Even now. Even in the middle of this shit-fest. You love me."

"I'm an asshole. I won't fucking take care of you. I won't fucking listen. I'll just virtually screw with you at every fucking step. I'll ruin the confidence you have. I'll destroy whatever goodness I found inside you. I'll -"

"Are you depressed or are you an egomaniac? Do you think you're god? Well, you're not! You're just Edward Cullen. You like berries and weird contemporary music and the beach in the rain. You have a weird mark at the corner of your mouth. You have a little scar on the shaft of your penis… and one day I'm going to fucking find out how it got there!"

"Bella -"

"You're in there, Edward. Don't tell me you're not underneath all of this filth and shit."

Edward moved his arm away from his face and finally, really looked at me. I was always shocked by how vibrant and green his eyes were. That afternoon, though, I was also taken aback by the desperate anger I saw there, glimmering fiercely just beneath the surface.

"You're looking at me, Bella. There's nothing else inside. I'm not some goddamned onion where you can peel back a layer and get goodness and light."

"But I still… Fuck it. _I_ love you, Edward! A lot. You're the only person I've ever felt this way about. And I'm not letting go, okay? I'm not. I won't. I can't."

"It's not fair to you."

"Then get help and make it fair!" I argued.

Edward simply closed his eyes, shutting me out the only way that he could when his door was unlocked and his covers were pulled back.

"I can't do this alone," I pled.

"I know."

"Try to stay with me?"

"I did," he croaked, blinking with the sun in his eyes. Gold and green. Gold and green. He licked his lips.

I wasn't going to let him get away. I edged closer; I went for his hand… if we could just stay connected, if I could just touch him or ground him and remind him how it felt when we were together…

Some things are bigger than almost everything. I was bigger than this. I was worth more than the insanity. I had to be, because he was worth everything to me.

I was his everything. He was my forever.

And like Edward could read my thoughts he reached out and pulled my face to his. I hadn't realized I was crying until I felt my tears wetting his face.

"I love you," I whispered as we kissed.

He held on tighter; he pressed my lips against his and grabbed me: my hair, my arm, my shirt - hard enough that I thought something was going to break. Suddenly we were both tearing at clothes, trying to touch, trying to reclaim what we'd lost. I was trying to show him that there was something worth fighting for… that this was the most important thing either of us had: each other.

I didn't care what anyone said about his music; it was perfect. _He_ was perfect. I'd just take him lounging in the library, reading silly books about time travel. I'd take him with a croissant and coffee, or walking down the street holding his hand.

I didn't need popular approval.

"I love you," I reminded him, as I slid over him, as he slipped inside and I hurt and stretched and burned. Yes, it had been long enough to burn, and it felt so, so good.

"Fuck," he mumbled as I fell, as I opened, as the pain multiplied by a million.

"I love you." I couldn't stop saying it.

"I know, baby. I know," he agreed, kissing me, gasping, moving his hips.

I rocked and I cried and I held on tight enough that I hoped he hurt too.

"You love me, you asshole," I insisted. "Say it. Tell me."

"I love you," he agreed.

He loved me. He said it and it hurt and I moved faster, trying to ignore the sadness and the despair that grew to fill the bedroom, that blossomed and tried to pull me under right along with Edward. We were in love; it wasn't sad. We loved one another; it was all that mattered.

Edward seemed to agree. He sat up and pushed me backwards and climbed on top of me. He looked determined. No, he looked… frightening.

He fucked me with a fury, with steadfast determination. Harder. In a flash the love was gone. It had run out of the room along with the depression, leaving a man fucking me… in anger?

"Fuck," he growled.

"Edward?" I asked.

He thrust harder. Hard enough that it hurt.

"Christ," he rasped.

"Edward!"

I clawed at his back and pushed at his arms, but he didn't respond. He was looking at me, but his eyes were blank, like green paint on a wall.

"Shit," he snarled.

"I, I, I—plea -"

And before I could ask him to stop, he came. Pulsing inside me. Collapsing on top of me.

xXxXx

Edward stopped locking the door. He'd whisper that he loved me even when he knew I was awake. We slept together, a lot… true sleep, not sex.

We let things go: making beds, cooking, the cleaning lady. I concentrated on the fact that he let me into his embrace. I tried to block out the news when his first solo single was released. No one cared about the innovation, the intricacy or the beauty that it evoked. They speculated about his personal life, instead – specifically, they speculated about me.

It made me sick to my stomach.

It made me turn off the T.V. and close the blinds. It made me search the cupboard for stale crackers instead of leaving the apartment to go to the store.

It made Edward sleep. It made Emmett have to practically coerce me to go to my classes. It made Alice come to me when there was something I needed to sign off on.

I wasn't counting the days when I was in the midst of it all. Now I can tick through the time with ease. Six little weeks went by unnoticed. Spring threatened. Bulbs pushed up from the polluted ground in Central Park. The ladies on the Upper East Side started wearing pink and yellow. None of it made a dent in our existence.

The dent came soon enough, though. It snuck into the bedroom while we were sleeping and urged me to open my eyes and come to terms with my existence.

The dent. Reality. Insight. Understanding.

Whatever it was, it came swiftly and with certainty, and kicked me in the gut.

xXxXx

I think there are those moments in time when you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that your life is going to change forever. I'd thought maybe the time I met Seth, or the night I met Edward, or the first time Edward and I kissed might have been one of those moments, but none of it compared to the morning of April 11th, when I opened my eyes and I knew.

The mind works quickly when adrenalin kicks in. Days add up to weeks, and fairytales and fantasies become biological reality.

"Edward," I said, nudging him awake. "Edward, I think I'm pregnant."

For years to come I would curse myself for uttering those five little words like that. I told myself I should have thought it through better, I should have discussed things with Rose, or even better, with Alice. In the long run, all of that second-guessing is ridiculous, though. I was suddenly certain that I was pregnant, and Edward was my boyfriend sleeping at my side. I'd done nothing wrong.

"What?" Edward mumbled, rolling over in bed and wrapping an arm around my waist.

I wriggled away and sat up. I counted again and again. I wanted to throw up, and I'm quite certain it wasn't due to morning sickness.

Edward peeled open an eye. "What's 'm matter?"

"Pregnant?" I whispered.

"You can't be."

For three seconds I desperately hoped there was a good reason that it was impossible.

"Why?" I asked.

"Birth control," he said, like throwing the phrase out there could protect me.

"But -"

"You're on birth control," he said with more certainty, like he was willing it to be true.

I shook my head. My stomach dropped. Vomiting was becoming much more of a possibility.

"What the fuck?" He was sitting. I was wrapping my arms around myself, suddenly feeling very naked and very stupid, and very likely pregnant.

"It's been… six weeks," I choked, tears blurring my eyes.

"But you said -"

"I never said that."

"What in the fuck were you thinking!" he shouted, on his knees across the king sized mattress from me.

I shook my head. I hadn't been thinking. He never used a condom. At first, well, he was Edward Cullen. I mean, it didn't seem like I should stop Edward Cullen and ask for a condom.

I know. Believe me. I. _know_. I was supposed to be smarter than that.

I've quizzed my own subconscious for years. Was I trying to get pregnant with Edward Cullen's child? No. I can't believe it. I'm not self-destructive at heart. That was Edward's department. The best I can come up with is that I thought each and every moment with Edward was too unbelievable to result in anything as substantial as a pregnancy.

Or I was young.

Or I figured he would have said something about birth control.

Or, or… "or" just doesn't really matter, does it?

"Goddamn it, Bella! Answer me!" he bellowed.

"You never used a condom," I whimpered.

"Because you used birth control!"

"Where would I get birth control?"

"The same place every other woman on the fucking planet gets birth control!"

And he was out of the bed and pulling on jeans, and throwing T-shirts around the room.

"Maybe I'm not," I hoped out loud.

Edward mumbled something as he strode around the room, animated for the first time in months. I wondered what that dirty clothing he was gathering had to do with a pregnancy scare. Was he cleaning up his act?

"Maybe it's something… I don't know, something else," I offered timidly.

It wasn't, though, and I knew it. I squirmed to a corner of the bed and pulled my knees to my chin and wrapped my arms around myself. I hid my eyes. I was pregnant.

The bedroom door slammed on Edward's way out of the room. I let myself cry. I spent a good twenty minutes expecting my period to come and tell me it wasn't true. I spent much longer than that hoping Edward would come back and tell me he was sorry and he'd go get a pregnancy test and we'd figure it out together. That didn't happen either.

Instead, the phone rang. I rushed into the hall.

"_You set, Trouble?"_ Emmett asked on the other end of the line.

I shook my head, but then I remembered that he wouldn't be able to hear me that way. "No," I croaked.

"_Get your little ass in gear, Bella. You're gonna be late_."

"Emmett?"

"_Is it Edward_?" he asked, suddenly understanding that something was very wrong.

"No, I mean, I don't know… I, I, I just can't -"

"_I'm coming up_."

"No!"

But he'd already hung up. I took a look around and realized that I was standing in the foyer of a very messy apartment, completely naked. And I was probably pregnant.

I found enough energy to unearth a T-shirt from a pile and pulled it over my head by the time Emmett was pounding on Edward's door. I can only imagine how things must have looked as he rushed past me, searching for Edward.

"Where is he? What'd he do? Edward! Jesus Christ, is he -" he asked, throwing open the bathroom door, searching in closets.

I sank into a small pile on the ground in the foyer and folded my legs and wrapped my arms and waited… either for Emmett to leave or Edward to come back.

Edward didn't come. Emmett didn't leave.

"Trouble? Trouble, what happened, sweetie?" Emmett asked on his knees in front of me.

"Pregnant," I whispered.

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"Edw -"

"He left."

"Are you sure?"

I shook my head. Tears trickled over my cheeks.

"Let's make sure, okay, Trouble? This could be a big deal over nothing. You stay here. I'll call Alice. We'll figure this out."

"No, please," I cried. My relationship with Alice had been so cordial and professional. I didn't want her to know how much I'd fucked up.

"Rose?"

"No," I whispered and wrapped my arms tighter, like maybe I could squeeze the reality away. I'd been dumb. So, so dumb.

"Fuck, okay. Hang tight. I'll be right back."

I couldn't say if Emmett was right back. I sat and cried and pretended it wasn't happening. At some point Emmett handed me a box and pulled me to my feet and led me to a bathroom, and asked very awkwardly if I thought I needed help.

I shook my head.

He closed the door.

I used each of the three tests.

I didn't have to say anything when I walked into the bedroom ten minutes later.

"I can help you fix this," Emmett said as I sat next to him on the dirty, unmade bed.

"What?" I asked, because unless he could go back in time…

"I know a doctor. Real private. _You _can't just show up at Planned Parenthood or something. Can you imagine what they'd say in the papers?"

"Wait, what?"

"Eddie boy will pay. Don't worry about that. Christ, knocking you up. The fuckhead."

"A doctor?"

"He's good. I've uh, kind of, used him… once, a while back. He was good."

"An abortion? You're talking about _me_ having an abortion?"

"Well, you're going to have one, right?"

"I am?"

"Well, uh, look around you, Bella. You think either of you is set to have a kid? You're what, eighteen or something?"

"I'm almost twenty!"

Emmett rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying -"

"Get out."

"Excuse me?"

"Get out, please. Now."

Emmett stood up and towered over me.

"Get out," I repeated, standing too and taking a step in his direction. I think that if there were any flies on the wall, they were definitely laughing. Emmett had close to two feet and two hundred pounds on me.

"I don't have to go, Trouble. I can wait with you, at least. Get you… food? Pickles?"

"Oh my god, please just leave!" I shouted and picked up the nearest thing I could find and chucked it at Emmett's head. Ashes flew through the air. Cigarette butts fell on the floor. Emmett caught the ashtray without even flinching.

I coughed.

"You want me to clean that up first?" he asked.

"Out," I demanded, and pointed towards the door.

Emmett shook his head and dug his hands in his pockets. "Have it your way, Trouble. Call me if you need me. Okay?"

I sank on the bed and he finally left without another word.

xXxXx

Edward didn't have a cell phone in 1990. No one did, really. He was simply… gone.

Me too. I mean, I was in the apartment, but I stopped going to classes. I let the phone ring. I slept a lot and ate a little. I didn't have the stomach for much. I watched my belly like it was going to pop out at any second. I paid way too much attention to the calendar, and as best as I could figure, I was about six or seven weeks along.

I was dying for a book about pregnancy, but there was no way I was calling Emmett, and I was slightly afraid I'd get spotted by some tabloid reporter as I was at the register with _What to Expect When You're Expecting_.

I closed my eyes and hoped I'd wake up and it was all a dream. I apologized to god for ignoring him or her and prayed for Edward's return. After a while, I gave up on god.

I won't lie. I thought about abortion. Emmett was right; I was in no condition to be a parent. I'd lived for eighteen years with two terrible parents, and now I was setting myself up to walk in their footsteps.

And Edward… Edward was gone. Did I really want to have the illegitimate child of an absentee rock star? Could I handle seeing Edward's eyes in some baby's face day after day, knowing he wanted nothing to do with either of us?

Then the thought that I could have a child with Edward's eyes… the idea that Edward and I made this thing in my belly and it could be our kid… that idea made me cry. Daily. There was this possibility that we could make a family and we could be a mom and a dad and we could stay together and make it work like my parents never could… and it was impossible. It mocked me. It wasn't real.

xXxXx

I heard the front door opening and I ran.

"Edward?"

"Christ, doesn't anyone wear clothes around here?" Alice asked, eyeing my tits and my panties.

I collapsed against the wall.

"Where is he?" she asked with raised eyebrows, scanning the filth.

I shrugged and slipped to the ground.

"Seriously, Bella. His accountant just called and I want to know what the hell all of this means."

"I don't know anything about Edward's accounting, Alice," I groaned.

"What did he do?" she asked. Somehow she was suddenly on the floor next to me.

"He left," I choked out and hid my face against my knees.

"Where'd he go?"

I shook my head.

"Fuck," she groaned. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

I began crying all over again. It was real. Alice didn't know where he was.

"That explains a few things, anyway. You have a bank yet account, kiddo? We've got work to do."

"I'm not working right now, Alice," I said, figuring she was talking publishing and editing and putting together that outline for the novel she wanted me to write.

"I'm sure no one's going to kick you out of here. But it'll feel better to have a place of your own, won't it?"

"What?" I asked, finally looking at Alice. She awkwardly patted my hair, trying to put it into some kind of order.

"Come on, Bella. Let's clean you up, pull you together and figure this out. Okay?"

"I'm not leaving, Alice. He could come back."

"Yeah, you didn't leave, just like you said. You proved your point. But you weren't the only one that could up and go. And I've got a cashiers check and an apartment lease that says this is something of a permanent arrangement."

Alice sent me to shower and when I came out, she'd somehow found a complete set of clean clothes of my very own, she'd ordered take-out, cleaned the place up a little, and had flowers sitting in a vase on the kitchen table. She poured two glasses of red wine.

"There's Hagen Daz, in the freezer, but you're pale, kiddo. You should eat real food first." She handed me the wine and it sloshed in the glass.

I was pretty sure that drinking alcohol while pregnant was about the worst thing you could do. Of course, a little wine wouldn't matter if I was going to end the pregnancy. Holding that glass, though, it mattered. I cared. I knew.

I placed the wine back on the table.

"I'm pregnant, Alice."

"Holy motherfucking shit on a stick!"

I sank into a chair. Alice downed her glass of wine in one gulp and then pulled a chair up next to mine.

The words I'd held inside for days tumbled out of my mouth. "And I didn't even know for sure and I told Edward and he got dressed and left and I haven't even talked to him since."

"Motherfucking son of a bitch."

"And Emmett said I should have an abortion and I feel like I can't leave the house and I don't want to raise a baby alone, Alice, and I don't want to have to chase down a kid's dad and I just want him here and it hurts being pregnant, like, really bad."

"Whoa, whoa -"

"And Rose called and I told her and now she's so pissed at Emmett and I know he was trying to be nice, but I think she's going to -"

"Back up, Bella!" Alice grabbed me by the hand and tipped up my chin so I was looking her in the eye. "It _hurts_?"

"Yeah."

"Like hurts your soul, or hurts like you want to throw up?"

"Like really bad cramps," I explained.

"That's not right. Are you bleeding?"

"No, I'm pregnant."

"You need to see a doctor, Bella."

"I told Emmett I wasn't doing that! I'm not going to a doctor!"

"As far as I know, kiddo, you're not supposed to have cramps until you're ready to pop. Right now you're supposed to feel sick to your stomach and tired. How bad are these cramps?"

I held my flat belly. "Really kind of bad sometimes, but I'm sad, you know?"

"I'm staying here tonight, sweetie and I'm getting you an appointment with my doctor tomorrow. While I'm here, I'll see if Esme knows anything. We'll find the fucker and figure out what's going on, okay?"

I nodded and gave Alice a hug. She spent long hours on the phone, and I spent my time on the couch, watching re-runs of _Different Strokes_, eating butter pecan ice cream and experiencing the first maternal feelings of my short little life. It may have been that I was more focused than ever on the pain in my belly, but it seemed like the cramps were getting worse as the night wore on. I wasn't bleeding though, so I figured that whatever it was, the baby was safe.

The baby. My little baby. I was having a baby. Edward's baby.

I wrapped myself in a blanket and curled into a ball around my baby and fell asleep to the sound of Alice's exasperated voice floating into the library from the kitchen.

"_Christ, Emmett, you could have said something!... No! No, I don't want to hear it! Where the hell did that asshole go? It's not okay. It's not okay, at all!_"

It wasn't okay. Not by a long shot. I woke up to blinding pain. It was dark. The blue light from the T.V. flickered and seemed to burn out my retinas. I gasped and clutched for something to hold on to as an invisible knife stabbed me straight through my belly.

I called out for Edward, but Alice showed up instead. I knew it was her because of the small hands, the gentle hushing, and the patter of tiny feet as she ran for a phone.

I faded in and out, waking each time I was stabbed, clutching Alice as I was jostled into an ambulance, looking for Edward's face amidst all the strangers that were staring down at me.

He wasn't there.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

Now is time for me to stop.

Now I power off the computer.

Now I walk through the dark house, alone. I've spent the better part of my life alone - all because Edward left. The scar never healed, even when I pretended it was long gone.

I feel suffocated, so I step out onto the porch and take deep gulps of wet, misty San Francisco air.

I woke up on April 18th, 1990 and found myself lying in a hospital bed. Alice, Esme and Rosalie were in the tiny, white room with me. A doctor strolled in, asked everyone to leave and explained what had happened. I'd had something called an ectopic pregnancy. It was very common, and most cases resulted in spontaneous early miscarriages. Some babies, though, were tenacious. They latched on tight and if they weren't caught in time, they broke right through the wall of the fallopian tube as they grew… just like my baby had, or my ball of cells, or my embryo… my baby.

I was going to be fine, he explained.

I had a uterus and one ovary left.

I'd lost some blood.

"The baby?"

"I'm sorry. There was never any chance that…"

I closed my eyes and lets the tears fall. Edward had left for no reason, for a baby that was never ours to keep. He left because he was afraid of a future that I wanted suddenly and desperately, but a future that we would never have.

The doctor was still talking. "… one fallopian tube, so it cuts the chance of spontaneous fertilization by at least half. And we find that there is a greater chance that it may happen with the remaining uterine tube for reasons that aren't completely clear… advances in artificial insemination… precautions going forward…"

I didn't listen too closely after that. I got the idea.

I didn't go back to school. I didn't go back to Edward's apartment. I didn't move into the apartment that had been leased in my name. Alice took me in, and Esme took care of me. Rosalie graduated later that spring and I moved with her back to San Francisco. I started over and pretended never to look back.

The idea makes me almost chuckle. This past week I've very nearly made a career of looking back. I might be crying, my stomach might be churning, and I may feel lonelier than I have in years, but I'm proud. I'm strong enough to stare the past in the face. I know that if I could get through that time in my life, I can get through anything… and I have. I've survived the life of a struggling, starving artist, I've lived through Edward's eventual marriage, I dealt with Jake's suicide, and I've come out the other end intact.

And now… now… now life threatens brilliance.

Now it should be clear why I doubted myself for so many years. I had an affair with a rock star that burned brilliant and bright, like a shooting star. Like all shooting stars, though, it burnt as brightly as it did because it was falling from the start, because it was being torn apart before our eyes.

I loved Edward Cullen without reservation. He was the light of my life. He was my launching point. He took a girl and he made her a woman, and then he betrayed that woman completely.

You shouldn't love someone like that forever. But sometimes, sometimes you do - despite yourself.

For so many years, I saw that love as weakness. I saw it as a disease. I tried to exorcize the feeling I carried, buried deep inside. But in the end, I admitted it was impossible. In the end, I finally came to terms with all of it. But I'm not at the end of the story yet. There's so much more to tell.

I spend the rest of the evening on the porch with a pen and paper, just like I used to do - before laptops, keyboards and screens took over, bringing with them symptoms of arthritis and carpal tunnel syndrome. I doodle and draw and outline just what I'm going to say to my little girl.

I have to let her know that she's the miracle in the middle of all of this, and that she's the most important thing in my world. I have to let her know that she is at the center of the picture of my life. I have to let her see that even though the winter of 1990 is remembered as swirling darkness and bright green eyes, ever since she was born my life has revolved around a set of big brown eyes, instead.

She is my hope and I will never make a move in my life without taking her into consideration. It's what a mother should do. It's why this story is important.

People wait in the wings waiting to hear what my Little One will say.

So do I.

* * *

><p><strong>(Apologies in advance for this long ass note)<strong>

**A/N: Each week I'm staggered by your support for this story. Thank you! **

**RobsJenn & CarenL took my breath away when they reviewed TiaL on The Fictionators last Friday. I may have framed it:**

** ht tp : / / www . fictionators . com/rec/there-is-a-light-by-belladonnacullen/  
><strong>

**Rosa Arcadia made a fuck-awesome blinkie & wrote an amazing review too! Now I've gotta figure out how to frame a blinkie:**

**ht tp : / / rosearcadia . blogspot . com/2011/08/there-is-light-by-belladonnacullen . html?zx=438d431fe4fb2a6b**

**I'm going to post a teenie-tiny EPOV from this chapter as an outtake. It should be up soon-ish in a separate TiaL Outtake 'fic'.**

**In other news, I'm going on vacation next week. I'll be in a cabin in the mountains in the woods by a lake. Even if I can find an Internet connection, I won't be writing. There's a SMALL chance I might post a SMALL chapter next Wednesday. There's a bigger chance you might have to wait 2 weeks.**

**Find me on facebook where teaser wars damn near killed me this week. Fiction Freak95 and troublefollows are gonna take me down. I know it! **

**Until next time, xxx, M**


	15. Is It Really So Strange?

**A/N: I couldn't rest on vacay without getting this chapter out. Thanks to Kiki and The Vault (you know who you are) for holding my hand. Don't let go, guys!  
><strong>

**No beta so I could get this to you - so, mistakes are mine. Don't worry, MaryJaneStew will be back in action next week.  
><strong>

**Is It Really So Strange can be found here: ht tp : / / www . youtube . com/watch?v=bYRXgRzUs-w  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>April 1990<strong>

Alice ran across Seth and Jake arguing with the doorman in the lobby of Edward's apartment as she was lugging out my few random possessions. She brought my friends to Esme's, probably as much to help with lifting as to brighten my spirits.

Seth knew about all of my lies the moment he found me curled in a ball on Esme's couch, pale and puffy-eyed. He hugged me and I cried rivers while Jake shifted from foot to foot at the other end of the room, looking strangely stiff and authoritative in his uniform.

I couldn't string words together into a coherent sentence, so I couldn't explain what happened, but with Seth and Jake, I didn't really have to. They let me be. With their support, I left the house for the first time in more than a week. The three of us settled in front of the fountain outside Lincoln Center, drinking Snapple ice teas and watching people walk by.

Seth filled in the long awkward gap that was masquerading as conversation. He told Jake and me all about his life in San Francisco: how he'd been working in a bookstore and was enrolled in community college for the summer semester. He had a roommate, and with a nervous glance in Jake's direction, he admitted that the guy was a little more than just a friend.

"Really?" I asked. It was still kind of hard for me to wrap my mind around the idea that my high school best friend was gay.

"Nothing… _special_," Seth demurred, trying to catch Jake's eye again.

Jake appeared completely engrossed the people crisscrossing the square, though.

I was proud of both of them - living their dreams and making their futures into something real and exciting, something they had control over. Seth was relaxed and proud, and aside from his worried look when his eyes settled on my face, he seemed truly happy.

I'd hoped Jake would have found a measure of peace as well, but instead, he seemed more taciturn than ever. He bristled at Seth's mention of his roommate, and tried a little too hard to studiously ignore the conversation.

Seth grabbed my hand and suggested we explore the Upper West Side, ignoring Jake right back. We walked past brownstones and cafes with Seth's arm draped over my shoulders. Jake walked a few feet away from the both of us, handsome and aloof and a little broader than I'd remembered. I guessed that the military would do that to a guy.

We ate hotdogs at Gray's Papaya. We checked out the whale at the Museum of Natural History. We browsed the selection at Shakespeare & Co. and Seth managed to floor me with his knowledge of modern literature. He'd really come into his own, and that was enough to make a dent in my sadness for the first time since Edward had disappeared.

"So, uh, I'm supposed to meet my big sister for dinner," Seth said apologetically, as we made our roundabout way back to Esme's apartment.

"Leah?" I asked. "Really? She's uh…"

"Talking to me, again?" Seth finished my thought. "Yeah. For a couple months now. She's always been the most open-minded of the bunch."

"Wow. How long has it been?"

With my question, a wall of painful discomfort sprang up between Jake and Seth. I watched Jake stiffen. Seth shook his head and bit his lip, and his cheerful mood evaporated like water on the receding banks of the Dead Sea.

"Funny thing is, they all went ape shit and I was at _your_ house, Bell," Seth explained loudly, turning purposefully away from the tall military man walking with us. "You know, that night me and _you_ hooked up."

If Seth didn't have Jake's attention before, well, he had it now.

Seth chuckled bitterly as we came to a stop outside Esme's place. He placed his hand on the bricks over my head and leaned in towards me… just like the first time we'd met in the hallway in high school. He was taller now, and broader, and his biceps bulged as he held himself up with just his arm.

"I was defending your honor. I told them I was with Jake so I wouldn't… I don't know… make them think you were easy or something. Turns out, the idea of me staying the night with Jake was even worse."

Seth shook his head and glanced at his friend. "What do you think, Jake? You or Bella? Who'd _you_ prefer I spend the night with?"

Jake balled his hands into fists. "You're telling me your entire family thinks -"

"They're not wrong, are they?" Seth interrupted. "Don't tell me you think they're wrong."

A man rushed past the three of us as he left Esme's building. Jake caught the door before it closed and ducked angrily inside, leaving Seth and I standing out in the yellow spring sunshine.

"He's wearing a uniform, Seth," I admonished.

"And he said we were going to talk and… _fuck_, I don't know." Seth stopped posturing and slumped against the wall by my side.

"You've got to understand -"

"I think _I _understand a little better than you do, Bell," he huffed.

"Yeah, because I definitely don't get how you can love someone, and how they can turn their back on you. I don't get that at all."

I folded my arms across my chest and raised my eyebrows, daring him to contradict me. Seth shrugged and found something on the sidewalk that was obviously very interesting to study.

I shivered despite the warm day. Alluding to Edward left me feeling small and helpless and insignificant… and heartbroken. I sniffed and tried to act strong. Seth slid closer. He lined up his foot up with mine.

"Jake's here, Seth. He's _here_, you know? That means something. Trust me."

"He's better in his letters than he is in person," Seth said, shaking his head. "Dude, some of those letters. _Damn_."

"I think he's scared," I offered.

"Well, I am pretty intimidating," Seth chuckled sadly, standing tall and puffing out his chest, trying to look fierce. He failed miserably, though, and somehow managed to make me laugh. I leaned against my friend and Seth folded me into his enormous embrace.

"I ever come face to face with that fucker on some dark pier late at night, trust me when I say no one will ever see him again, Bell. No one hurts you like that and gets away with it. No one. That's a promise."

"He already did," I sniffled. "He totally got away."

xXxXx

Jake and I curled up on the couch at Esme's and watched old movies together in relative silence. Esme made us dinner and looked pleased to have me at the table, instead of continuing my immobile existence as a lump on her couch. She'd been so soft-spoken and tender towards me ever since I'd opened my eyes at the hospital. I imagine it was strange even having me in her home in the first place. Now, hanging out at her place with an old boyfriend in a uniform… it was extremely surreal. Yet Esme couldn't suppress her smile as she watched Jake and I murmuring back and forth and passing things to one another at the table.

"Jake?" I asked as we sat in the living room after dinner, sipping decaf from silly china teacups.

"Yeah, Bell?" he asked, biting his lip and glancing at me nervously – allowing me to catch a glimpse of the boy I remembered from high school.

"Are you happy?"

"Dude, flying's everything I thought it would be," he said heartily, slurping at his coffee. He settled the delicate cup carefully on the saucer. With his strong hands, he looked like he could easily crush the little thing between his thumb and forefinger.

"You think you'll have to fight one day?" I asked.

"I hope."

I grimaced. I touched his elbow and made him look at me.

"But, are you happy?" I asked again.

His eyes searched mine; his face said it all.

"It's good to see Seth… _settled_. Don't you think?" I prodded.

"What about you, Bell?" Jake asked, avoiding my line of questioning. "What now?"

I shook my head. Tears filled my eyes. It was much easier to think about Jake and Seth than it was to focus on the mess I'd become… and how I'd gotten there… and who'd taken me there.

Edward.

I wrapped my arms around my body.

Not pregnant.

A stream of tears slid down my face.

Jake took a deep breath. His big hand slid across the couch and embraced mine. "I… I could take care of you, Bella. Benefits, housing… I could do what that asshole wouldn't. I love you. I… you and I, it would make it easier having you to come home to. It would make me feel normal."

"Jake, are you…"

He shook his head. He was suddenly sweating. "I know I can't be _him_. I know. Just like I can't be…_ I_ can't. I love you. I _know _I love you. We could be there for one another instead of alone."

"Jake, but…"

"People have gotten married for less."

"Married?" I exclaimed, trying to scoot away from Jake, but he held my hand tightly in his.

"If we got married, you could come with me."

"Jake, that's nuts."

"No, Edward Cullen, that man's fucking nuts. He's a motherfucking asshole. And how can I leave you here, all torn up inside… with his mother?"

"But Jake, I don't… I don't think you really like me like that, either. _Seth_…"

"I'll never like Seth that way, okay? I just… can't." His eyes looked hollow before they settled on his lap.

"You wanted to meet him here, though."

"I thought… _maybe_."

"Jake," I whispered and clutched his hand. He bit his lip. "I'm too young for a marriage of convenience. So are you."

His hug was fierce. He kept me in his strong arms and I cried, and maybe, so did he, a little.

"Don't stay here and wait for a man that doesn't deserve you," he said before he left that night.

Jake was right; I _was _waiting. Every night since Edward had disappeared I went to sleep dreaming that he'd turn up unannounced… just like he had when he returned from his last tour with The Masens.

xXxXx

**May 19****th****, 1989 – Just another Wednesday…**

I'd had no warning whatsoever. It was a day like any other. I was walking in from a long afternoon of monotonous work where I was paid to sit in front of a computer monitor and type five numbers, then hit return, five numbers, then return, over and over and over for four hours straight, with a ten minute break. They let me wear my Walkman and I entered numbers to the beat. That day, it was _The English Beat_, to be exact.

I was humming along and singing under my breath about stopping the world and melting, while I leafed through my mail and pushed open the door. So, I nearly tripped over a large bag that was sitting smack in the middle of the foyer. I gasped a little as I caught myself on the doorknob, dangling over a pile of dirty men's T-shirts that hadn't been there when I'd left that morning.

He was back. Edward. He had to be. I pulled the headphones off and glanced around.

Over the past seven months that I'd stayed at his apartment, Edward had sent random postcards from the road: from Portland, from L.A., from London where he spent the holidays and worked on the European distribution of the album.

His messages were short, yet not necessarily sweet. Seth had called it so long ago; Edward wasn't especially nice, but he wanted to keep in touch with me anyway.

**xXxXx**

**_Bella, _**

**_Olympia is cloudy as fuck and the kids are all so dirty. I don't think it would suit you. No need for you to ever visit, in case you'd ever thought to._**

**_Edward_**

**_xXxXx  
><em>**

**_Bella,_**

**_Just spent the afternoon in the Paisley Palace. Makes me think that I should redecorate. Please have the place all in purple when I return._**

**_Edward_**

**_xXxXx  
><em>**

I was once again Edward Cullen's pen pal - just his live-in pen pal this time around. And then, without a word, he was back. I think. That was his bag I tripped over, right?

I slipped off my headphones and tiptoed through the rooms. I found a pair of sunglasses in the library. There was a hoodie hanging on the back of a chair in the kitchen. There was a T-shirt in the hallway.

His door was open.

He was home, and wet, and very close to naked.

I jumped backwards and slapped my hand over my mouth, trying to hide the embarrassing gurgling sound that leapt from my throat.

Chest… abs… hips… legs…

Edward's eyes widened. He smirked.

I hid my face. "Sorry."

"No, I should apologize. I'm not used to… roommates."

"Me either," I mumbled looking at the floor.

"Oh, but you are, Bella. You told me so in a letter."

I heard the subtle slap of bare, wet feet on hardwood as he walked closer. I had a hard time catching my breath. I didn't know if there was anything underneath that towel. There probably wasn't… well, except… god, I couldn't even think straight.

"I'll remember to keep the bedroom door shut in the future."

Edward was suddenly close enough that I could feel his breath on my face and the warm, wetness evaporating off his skin. My heart thumped in my chest and I held my breath. Then, without another word, he gently closed the door, leaving me a virtual puddle of goo, stuck to the floor in the hallway.

xXxXx

If Edward showed up out of the blue like that in May of 1990, I would have collapsed into his arms and cried with relief – hell, probably even gratitude. In my dreams he told me how wrong he was, and he apologized and promised he'd never leave again. Then he picked me up in his arms and walked across town with me, and we simply picked up where we left off. I would have tied myself to him, probably literally – I was a little out of my mind. I would have held on like grim death the second time around.

He didn't come.

I think it was for the best.

"Esme?" I asked on entering the kitchen the night after Jake and Seth left. I think she knew about my plans. I found her stowing snack cakes away in my backpack.

She smiled. Her hands fluttered as she took a seat.

"I really appreciate everything… _Everything_."

"And I'm sorry, dear. For... For my son."

I instinctively placed my hands over my empty womb, the place that little disastrous child used to live. I was about to tear the very last piece of Edward out of my life for good.

"He's not coming back, is he?" I asked.

Esme's look said it all. She'd see him eventually, but me… she wasn't so sure. Edward didn't want me. I wasn't family. The only thing that made me family was dead and gone, like it had never existed.

I left Esme Cullen with a hug, a thank you, the cashier's check Edward left for me, and the Specials T-shirt that belonged to Jasper. I didn't leave a forwarding address.

"Honey, he -"

"He regarded me, Esme."

Esme pursed her lips. I didn't cry - not out loud, anyway. My body shook with silent sobs.

With time, I learned to hate Edward Cullen. And when he appeared out of nowhere, just like I'd dreamed he would, the reunion went a little differently than I'd fantasized. I took the opportunity to let him know just how much I despised him. I reminded him how much he'd hurt me. I assured him that I'd moved on.

Yet, as my anger waned, it became harder to ignore the little glimmer of light that had burrowed deep inside my soul.

The second time Edward swaggered into my life, I told him to leave me alone for good. I hoped he'd listen, and he did. He left me all right; he went and knocked up Kate Denali and married her. He left me completely alone… finally, totally alone.

xXxXx

**December 10, 2001 – My big night**

I spun around and giggled; it all felt like a dream: the glittering lights, the actors, ubiquitous movie posters, the sparkling gowns and dapper suits – this wasn't my life. It was a little girl's fantasy come true. It was something you saw on Entertainment Tonight. But no, it was real. I was mingling with producers and directors at the after party following _Punk Rock Heart's_ premiere.

My gown was stunning: dark enough blue that it could be mistaken for black, subtly shimmering, with a plunging neckline and a flowing skirt. I looked flawless. I was floating.

I'd been giddy enough that Alice convinced me that I needed Valium. She carefully monitored my champagne intake as she steered me from one person to the next, whispering relevant pieces of information. It was a blur, but with the just the right mix of sedatives and alcohol it loosened me up enough to talk, and laugh, and even flirt.

I was bubbly and I was witty. I was intelligent and appropriately flirty. Alice was pleased; industry big wigs were charmed. I caught sight of Seth lounging against the bar, smiling proudly, and ran to him and threw my arms around his neck.

"You did it, Bell. You're a hit," he said, swinging me in a circle. People murmured. Why not? Seth was hot, and tonight, so was I.

"I did it," I agreed, glancing around the restaurant, awestruck at the thought that none of it would have been there if it weren't for my words.

"I always knew you had it in you," he said holding me close.

I kissed Seth's cheek. Someone snapped a picture.

"If that gets published it's totally going to ruin your game," I giggled, unwinding my arms from around his waist.

Seth laughed and playfully pushed me away. "You just worry about your own game, sweetheart. Seems you're due for some… game. See anyone here you like?"

I scanned the room again, this time searching for… game. There were some good-looking men there. Hell, there were some smoking hot guys gathered for the premiere of a movie that_ I_ wrote, but I was looking for one man in particular. The knowledge nearly knocked me over. Or maybe it was the Valium. Either way, I hung onto the bar for support.

I wanted Edward.

I wanted to see him with one of those rare smiles on his face – the kind of smile that could cut through the gray like equatorial sunshine on the summer solstice. I wanted him to see this; I wanted to bask in his pride.

I forcibly forgot that Edward was home in London, with a two-year old daughter and a wife.

I wanted him.

I walked through the rest of the party holding onto that knowledge like a secret. I wanted to bump into Edward in the narrow hallway that led to the bathrooms. I wanted to see him coming in late with the other famous stragglers. I wanted to pick an hor d'oeuvre up off a tray at the same time he did and accidentally brush fingers with him and laugh.

I wanted Edward.

In the morning I apologized to the semi-famous actor I woke up next to and sent him packing, explaining that I wasn't relationship material.

I blamed my feelings for Edward on the drugs and booze. It was easier to lie to myself when I was sober. It was easier to focus on work and the little life I'd made. At that point in time, I was still studied in the ways that love could leave you broken, empty and alone. While others let love's warm glow lead them through life, I skulked along in its shadows.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

I meant what I said to Seth and Rosalie the other night; looking back over my life, I wouldn't change a thing. Pieces fell into place fatefully. I'm not that far gone that I believe everything has a purpose that's written on high, but I see where my life has led me and I don't want to take it back.

More than anything, I don't want to take my daughter back. Her birth managed to heal my heart in a way that's still difficult to put into words.

As a writer, I can find symbolism in the ebb and flow of life and death that surrounded her conception. I understand why each of the players entered and exited stage left when they did. Piece by piece, woven just so, my daughter came into my life, and she saved my heart.

xXxXx

**May 10, 2004 - Bereft**

"I sent him away," I sighed, before I downed another shot.

I knew that I was being insensitive. I was reflecting, or deflecting, or projecting… or something psychological like that. This wasn't about Edward. The man Seth had pursued since he was a teenager had had just killed himself. He left behind a wife and two little boys… and he left Seth feeling responsible.

Focusing on Edward's sudden appearance was easier than struggling with the idea that Jake lived his life in denial and ended it in despair. Jake was supposed to have been my friend, and yet I couldn't help him. Worse, I'd led him astray at the end.

"_You're going to make Seth's decade!"_ I'd enthused. I'd been wrong.

Seth told Jake that it was all or nothing. He wouldn't hide who he was or whom he loved. Jake wasn't ready for all that.

"_If you're not ready at thirty-four, when the hell are you going to be ready, Jake? At seventy? I'm sorry, I'm living my life now, with or without you."_

Jake chose without.

Meanwhile, Edward had moods that rose and fell like the tide on the Bay of Fundy, yet he still found the will to walk around and live, to procreate and taunt me. It wasn't fair.

Seth sloppily re-filled my shot glass with tequila. The alcohol sloshed and spilled. It tasted awful, but it was all they'd had at the mini mart near the faded motel. At least we were overlooking the water – even if we were left to gaze at the scenery through a rusted screen dotted with dead mosquitoes. We'd tried a walk on the beach earlier to commemorate our childhood, but the wind was biting and the sand was annoying, and it was easier to come inside and morn. It was also a more convenient place to get wasted.

Seth downed a shot, and slammed his glass on the tacky tabletop, spilling a few drops of liquor on the pictures Jake's sons had colored for me. They'd slipped them into my hand as I was giving them hugs goodbye.

I couldn't fathom how Jake could have left those two little boys behind. Maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised; my own parents had abandoned me as a child. Seth's parents had kicked him out. Parents left all the time.

And now, now I could tack Edward onto that list.

"_I left Kate,"_ he'd just informed me.

He'd deserted his wife and child.

I threw back another shot.

He'd left – apparently it was the one thing Edward did best in this world. Now he was unmarried, or in the process of becoming unmarried… and he came to see me.

_Fuck._

"It was the right thing to do," Seth mumbled as he poured us both another shot. This time around I think more tequila landed on the tabletop than in the glasses.

"What?" I asked, trying to mop up the mess, but really just pushing the alcohol around.

"He wasn't gonna commit," Seth explained, trying to focus on my face, swaying a little. "I'm not becoming someone's secret. I'm not. It's not right. You can't ask me to do that."

"You were just being honest," I said, laying my hand over his. I noticed that both of our hands were sticky and gritty from messy shots and lemon, and salt water and sand.

"But I could have said yes, and then... this. We could have been happy."

"Could you?" I asked. "How exactly would that work? I mean, can you go back in the closet? Jake wasn't making sense. He chickened out. He spent his life too afraid…"

"He wasn't afraid enough!" Seth spat, and reached for the bottle. I pulled it away from him. "Not afraid enough for his family… not enough for his friends. Jake… fuck it, Jake was a selfish prick."

Seth finally managed to fish the nearly empty bottle from my hands and poured us both another.

"Would you really do it over and say yes?" I asked.

Seth paused with the shot glass poised at his lips. Blinking, he set it back down on the table and shook his head. "No. I'm old enough to want it all… or nothing. I can't have half a person," he mumbled.

Big tears ran down his cheeks. Seth was gutted for wanting it all. I wrapped my arms around him and wished I could be everything for him - for the friend that knew me from the beginning, for the friend that loved me. For the friend I loved right back. My tears joined his and I cried and rocked and held on tight, wracked with sadness and confusion, struggling to feel anything but heartsick. I was comforted in his strong arms - at home and at peace enough to almost block out the tangled mess of emotions I'd been grappling with.

We'd both made mistakes, we'd left a trail of death and destruction in our own personal lives, and we were there for one another when no one else was; saying it was okay, saying we were each okay, mistakes and all.

We were drunk and it was dark and it's hard to say how we went from helping and holding one another, to clutching and kissing. It dulled the ache, it smothered the awful feeling in the pit of my stomach that there was no going back. We weren't going back, we were going forward, pulling, pressing, fumbling, falling… spreading.

I clasped the sheets with eyes shut tight, crying and gasping and sighing and finding rest against Seth's bare chest; finding solace in his arms.

In the morning, despite the crippling hangover, I was content to wake by Seth's side in that dingy motel room with stained walls and a dresser splattered with tequila.

My friend blinked his big brown eyes and I shook my head slowly… It was less painful that way.

"Um," I hedged.

Seth smiled shyly and trailed a finger over my bare arm. I pulled it away.

"Seth, I, uh -"

He laughed and made a show of peeking under the covers. I clutched the sheet around myself.

"Nothing I haven't seen before," he said with a playful wink.

"But, um… I -"

"And no need to let me down easy. I just figured I'd throw you one… since you've been trying to get me into the sack since high school."

"Hey," I said, punching his arm.

"Hey," he said, more serious. "I love you. Better with you than some random stranger, right?"

I laughed a little and rolled onto my back, headachy, dehydrated, and, well, sore. I made sure I was covered, even though I was under the covers _with_ Seth. Best friend sex with your gay best friend was, in a word, weird. God, it must have been weirder for him, right? I took a chance and glanced over at Seth. He was staring at the ceiling, and I didn't know if it was because of his hangover, or because he'd just had sex with a chick, or because of Jake, but bubbly old Seth had disappeared as quickly as he'd surfaced. He was bereft all over again.

"I'm really sorry," I whispered, rolling onto my side and laying my hand over his heart. "I wish I could change things."

"Yeah, I know."

Seth's chest rose and fell. Jake's death hit home all over again. Sadness rolled in with the brackish tide.

I held my friend tighter, trying to ward off the pain.

"Don't get any crazy ideas, Bell," he laughed bitterly.

"Please, I've had enough gay boyfriends for a couple lifetimes," I laughed back, and started to roll back to my side of the bed. Seth held me close, though.

"I'm sorry _he_ showed up and fucked with you like that, Bell. But I wouldn't change things. That guy's fucked and you deserve better."

"I shouldn't want him back," I sighed.

"You shouldn't," Seth agreed.

"I think I do."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

I did. I wanted Edward. Seeing him at Jake's funeral shocked my system, and after I'd yelled and made a mini-scene and sent him away, I was left with the inescapable knowledge that I wanted him… Just to see and say hi to, maybe.

I still want him, now, but I want more than a casual greeting. I want Edward's hands to hold me, I want his lips to brush against my skin, I want his tongue inside my mouth - I want him… _now_.

I want his eyes in front of me. I want his heart holding mine.

I want him in my home and in my life.

I used to think that all of that wanting was self-destructive. For a time, it definitely was. At the very least that lingering light left me at war with myself. At its most lethal, it stranded me in an unhealthy relationship that nearly tore me apart and left me for dead.

I've come to believe though, that this light isn't simple enough to label 'good' or 'bad'. It simply _is_. It's something I couldn't leave and I couldn't shake. No matter the years that Edward and I spent apart and angry, it threaded its way through my existence. It was woven into my fabric. It shone glittery and golden, lighting the foggy San Francisco mornings, holding me intact and insulated, like a caterpillar in a cocoon. My love lay dormant, waiting.

Weeks passed, surprises came, decisions were made and my life grew lighter. Until the morning in late winter when, after eighteen hours of relentless labor, I held my little daughter in my arms for the first time. That small little feeling that had been trapped within, like a butterfly, burst free from its chrysalis, fluttering in all its beauty - and the light was made manifest in my arms.

xXxXx

**February 23****rd****, 2005 – The first day of my life**

My beautiful little girl was so pink and soft, so new, so… perfect. She blinked her big, brown eyes and that old Bella was gone - a sad memory. I was reborn and alight with love.

She latched onto my breast and her little fist beat against my chest. She instinctively snuggled closer to my heart. Seth wrapped a strong arm around me and played with her toes; they curled. I wept. He wiped the tears from my eyes.

"Little Light… my Little One," I whispered.

She blinked and wrinkled her bald forehead.

My heart fluttered.

"She's going to need a name," Seth chuckled as he gazed at her, completely and totally in love.

"She's beautiful," I cooed.

"Amazing," Seth agreed.

I gazed at my daughter and my heart exploded. I loved her without reservation. She was my pride and joy, my little miracle, the girl that should have never been… my greatest creation.

I held her in my arms and rocked, and the song that fell from my lips surprised me.

_Please don't cry for the ghosts in the storm outside_

_Will not invade this sacred shrine or infiltrate your mind_

_My life down I shall lie…_

Edward's lullaby; my melody. I smiled as I hummed and my little girl fell asleep.

And maybe it was wrong, but I wanted _him_ there.

Over the past nine months, Edward had become a mainstay in the tabloids. Kate Denali wasn't going down without a fight, and she used the only thing Edward wanted against him – his daughter Elizabeth. Rumors had been floated to the press that she wasn't Edward's biological daughter, after all. He fought for her, nonetheless. He endured the mudslinging. I saw pictures of him arriving for court, grayer around the edges.

I hummed his lullaby and I understood. He loved. He endured. He wouldn't let her go. Holding my little girl in my arms in the light of my infinite love, I got it. And it may have been the oxytocin's influence, but I fell in love all over again.

My daughter made funny faces in her sleep and I laughed with tears in my eyes. Finally, I had everything I'd always wanted. I had a career and a child… and I was in love.

I didn't know what to do with that love. Maybe I'd simply live with its existence until the day I died. Maybe I was in love with a memory, and maybe I wasn't loved back. But it was blinding and it was beautiful and it was real. For the time being, as I held my brand new little girl in my arms, that love was enough.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

His car rolls up to the curb and my daughter jumps out of the back seat and runs toward the house. I'm relieved that he cuts the engine and opens the door. I need to talk to my daughter, and I don't want to do it alone. It's probably high time we had a family meeting.

"Mommy!" my daughter cheers as she jumps into my arms.

I hug her tight even though it's only been twenty-four hours. She kisses my cheek.

"Did you have fun with Daddy?" I ask.

"Of course," she says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes like I've just asked if the sky was blue. "Did you have fun all alone?" she asks.

I wouldn't exactly call it fun. Her father jogs up the steps.

"I've figured out how to tell the rest of the story, Little One."

"The one about The Masens?" she asks.

I nod. Seth raises his eyebrows.

"You'll stay for dinner?" I ask him.

"You should really hear this story, Daddy," my daughter says, wriggling out of my arms.

"You have no idea, Kiddo," Seth replies. "Some of us lived it."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know. I know. And now I'm going on vacation. Right? When I started this, I already knew the whole story. I had no idea how invested people would become. I hope you stick with me even though Seth's the dad. **

**I'll either be rocking and hiding in a corner, or hiking down a mountain trail, wondering what you all think.  
><strong>

**Until next Friday, xxx, M**


	16. These Things Take Time

**A/N: Happy Birthday, Obsmama!**

**MaryJaneStew, KikiTheDreamer, SueBee, Fiction Freak95, Troublefollows, Obsmama, CrookedSmile, and Jarkin are just a few of the people that told me to simply write the story like I saw it in my head. Thanks.**

**These Things Take time can be found here: ht tp : / / www . youtube . com/watch?v=CQWvMUzTgIk**

**Totally didn't write **_**Friday I'm in Love**_**. It's by The Cure.**

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Seth handles the poultry, I chop the veggies, and we do it all in rhythm to some classic The Cure. Seth'll never admit it, but he loves the song that's currently playing in the background. I let it go and don't give him shit for it this time around, settling on singing under my breath as I watch him out of the corner of my eye silently mouthing the words. We fall into this kind of thing like we're an old married couple.

In our own way, Seth and I've outlasted many marriages. We've lived together on and off since my senior year of high school. We agree on parenting styles and love our daughter without reservation. We hardly argue. Of course, there's been one topic of conversation over the years that's always fraught with the potential for raised voices and differences of opinion. Things are a bit more settled these days. Seth made sure of it. He's cautiously optimistic. We both are.

_I don't care if Monday's black  
>Tuesday, Wednesday - heart attack<br>Thursday, never looking back  
>It's Friday, I'm in love<em>

Seth quirks an eyebrow. My singing voice has unintentionally risen.

"It's actually Sunday," he deadpans.

I throw a carrot chip at his head. Seth ducks and it lands in the sink. I pelt him with a few more for good measure and go back to singing my cheesy alterna-love song.

_Dressed up to the eyes  
>It's a wonderful surprise<br>To see your shoes and your spirits rise  
>Throwing out your frown<br>And just smiling at the sound  
>And as sleek as a sheik<br>Spinning round and round_

It feels good having Seth in the house, preparing dinner together. We did this practically every night for two straight years. We both knew when the time came for him to move out, though. There was a good stretch of time right after the birth of our daughter when neither of us had any interest in dating. Seth and I were more focused on just getting by. But life eventually goes on; babies learn to sleep through the night and libidos return.

Seth lives five miles away. I think it's as far as he could ever keep himself from our Little One. She has a room there and she bounces back and forth between houses. There's no need for custody arrangements; we're simply a family that spans two households.

"I heard Rosie and Em found a place, huh?" Seth asks.

"Over by The Presidio. They have old memories… of the bushes," I snort.

"They're moving kind of quick," he says as he slides the chicken into the oven to roast.

"They've been fucking around for twenty-two years. If that's your definition of fast, I'd hate to see slow."

"Yeah, I guess I don't see it like that, you know, since she's been with Royce the whole time I've known her."

I clear my throat.

"Really?" Seth asks.

"Pretty much," I confirm. "Not from the very beginning, I guess. But I'm pretty sure they hooked up after Em was shot back in ninety…"

"When he worked with Fiddy?" Seth asks.

I giggle uncontrollably. _Fiddy._

"She just seemed so, I don't know, _gung ho_ about Royce, especially back when you guys first moved out here."

I know what Seth means. No sooner had Rosalie and I rented an apartment in San Francisco, when out of nowhere, Royce started staying the night. My over-zealous punk rock friend was replaced with a girl that liked fancy dinners, pearl earrings, and hints about marriage proposals.

Rosalie wasn't known for discretion when it came to her love life; I mean, by that point I probably could have drawn a fairly accurate life-sized diagram of Emmett's penis and testicles. With our move, though, she became tight-lipped about everything: Emmett, Royce, and aside from snide looks and indistinct sounds that conveyed disgust, Edward as well.

"_You're making me crazy, Rose. You're lying about something, and trying to cover it up with silence. It doesn't make any sense,"_ I'd argued.

"_My god! It's none of your freakin' business, Bella_," she groaned before she slammed her bedroom door.

Sure, on the surface Rosalie's love life wasn't exactly my business, but I'm smart, even when emotionally devastated. I knew there was more to the quick switch from Emmett to Royce than three thousand miles and Emmett's offer to hook me up with a quickie abortion.

The story's come out little by little over the years. Back in 1990, Emmett was Edward's closest confidant. Emmett stepped in and helped his friend and employer to get his shit together when he couldn't do it for himself. He followed Edward to London and made sure he was safe, and then he left him in the care of an old friend, in order that he could get back to New York and in time for Rosalie's graduation from NYU.

Emmett's actions left Rosalie aghast.

"_Is this what you'd do if I got pregnant?" she'd yelled._

"_Dude, I'm totally not planning on getting you pregnant. And, anyway, he's not in his right mind."_

"_It doesn't mean he gets to wash his hands of everything."_

"_It's my job to keep the guy safe. I don't know what the fuck he would have done if -"_

"_There's your job and then there's human decency. Two. Separate. Things!"_

"_I think keeping my friend alive is a 'decent thing', Rose."_

"_Helping him run away from his girlfriend that's lying in a hospital bed and then setting him up with some chick, that is the most outrageous thing I've ever heard, and as far from decent as you could get."_

"_She's not some chick. We've known Kate forever."_

"_I don't want to hear your excuses."_

"_This has nothing to do with me and you."_

"_That's where you're wrong! It shows just what kind of person you are, Emmett McCarty!"_

At least that's how Rose relayed it to me one night over one too many glasses of wine. By the time she'd finally spilled the beans, I was numb to Edward's actions. I can't say the details made any difference one way or the other.

"I was afraid you'd crawl back into bed, or you'd hop the next flight to London," Rose explained. "Do you hate me?"

I couldn't hate my friend, though. She was right; I would have inevitably chased Edward down if I knew where he'd gone. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd have confronted him in London. These days, I don't think I want to know.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"She's excited," Seth says as he dices carrots.

"She?" I ask, bewildered.

"Our daughter," Seth laughs, shaking his head. "Earth to Bella."

"Umm?" I hedge, wondering how much of this conversation I've missed.

"The Nutcracker? You know - the biggest event of her little life. She's sure that after this performance she's going to be famous - just 'like The Masens'." Seth makes air-quotes for emphasis.

"What?" I ask.

"That's what she said. 'The Masens'. I told her that if she became famous, she'd be more like her mom, since The Masens are old news."

I jab Seth with my elbow and shake my head, but my stomach is suddenly jumpy. I find I can't look my friend in the eye. I try to concentrate on the veggies on the cutting board in front of me in order to steady myself.

"So, I can't say 'The Masens' now without you going all weird on me?" he asks, chuckling. He leans in my direction. "Edward Masen," he hisses loudly in my ear.

I unintentionally jump.

Seth laughs harder. "Maybe you should leave the cutting to me," he offers. "You're in no condition."

I take his advice and abandon the vegetables, hop up onto the countertop and glance between the food and his hands with raised eyebrows. Honestly, he's a better cook. He may as well chop and sauté. Dinner will go much better with Seth in charge.

"You feel better about telling her?" he asks as he gets to work.

"It's weird, but when I thought about it, I kind of realized how her existence made a way for me to get from point A to point B."

Seth shakes his head as he chops celery. "Her existence did it, huh? I don't remember that as part of the deal when you first told me."

"I didn't know we had a deal."

"Fine, not a deal, exactly. Just a Little One."

"A _me_?" my daughter asks, wandering into the kitchen, scouting for food.

Seth and I smile in tandem. Our daughter reaches her hands up and I pull her onto the countertop next to me. Seth rolls his eyes.

"You know, there are actual seats right over there," he says, pointing to the stools lining the breakfast bar.

"You were talking about me?" my Little One asks, ignoring her father's oblique request in favor of steering the conversation back in her direction.

"We were just talking about when we found out I was going to have a baby," I explain, hugging her tight.

"Tell me again?" she asks.

It's a good story. I can't say no.

xXxXx

**June 2004 – It's not often that life gives you a do-over.**

Given my past experience with surprise pregnancy, I chose not to spring the news on Seth until I checked in with my gynecologist to make sure the little ball of cells causing me to miss my period was healthy and growing in the right spot, and to ensure it's size matched what I was almost certain was the date of conception.

Then I waited. I watched my friend, looking for signs about what he might say; how he'd react. I was pretty sure he wasn't going to bolt for a foreign country, but reason was hard to come by those days right after Jake's suicide, Edward's reappearance, and finding out I'd been impregnated by my best friend.

After a few evenings tactfully avoiding alcohol, and meeting up for brunch and ordering tea and toast, I knew it was only a matter of time before Seth read the writing on the wall.

"You ever think about having kids?" I asked one Sunday morning as we sat reading the paper at my place. He eyed my decaf. My stomach lurched.

Seth shrugged. "I don't know. I'd never do it alone. I'd need to be in a serious, this-is-for-life kind of relationship. But then adoption seems like such a hassle."

He needed a serious, this-is-for-life relationship? Fuck. He was probably going to flee for China instead of Britain.

"What if you didn't have to adopt?" I asked with a quavering voice.

Seth looked at me funny.

"I'm serious," I hinted, glancing down at my middle.

"Wait until I find a guy until you offer up your uterus, Bell," Seth said before taking another sip of coffee and going back to the Arts and Leisure Section.

"So, you'd do it, then?" I pressed.

Seth placed his section of the paper on the coffee table. "Are you offering to carry my future, as-yet-to-be conceived child?"

"Umm…"

"And what's up with the decaf?"

"So, it's not that you're against children, you just don't want to do it on your own?"

"What exactly are we talking about here?" Seth asked.

When it came down to it, there was no way around it. I knew how tiny little sentences could change lives. I didn't want to lose Seth. I didn't want to tear my life apart yet again, but it had to be said. I offered up a silent prayer, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and pushed the words out of my mouth.

"I'm pregnant."

Seth choked on his coffee. I kept my eyes closed and waited for him to stop coughing.

"Come again," he asked.

"I'm pregnant, Seth. I'm pregnant and I don't -"

The table clattered, papers rustled, and strong arms encircled me. I held on tight.

"I'm pregnant," I repeated for good measure.

Seth pulled away and I chanced it and opened my eyes. He wasn't running to China… yet. He was still there, but it was clear from the look on his face that he still didn't quite believe me, either.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

I nodded.

"It's… _mine_?"

I nodded again. I felt my eyes watering.

"You're sure?"

"Jesus, Seth, I've been with two guys in the past three years. I'm sure."

I wiped my eyes. He stared at my belly, sizing it up.

"I'm not quite that far along yet," I giggled nervously.

"You said yet. _Yet_? You, um, you want this then?"

I nodded. Seth held my hips and stared hard at my mid-section. "A baby?" he asked.

"Right now it's a really little one."

"Little One?" he asked, still staring. I didn't know if he was talking to me, or himself, or to the baby inside.

"You want to do this?" I asked.

Seth shrugged. I watched him struggle not to smile. "Yeah. Maybe. I mean, why not, right? You got anything better to do with the next eighteen years, Swan?"

I punched his arm. That brought his smile out in full force - that same one he'd flashed for me the first time we'd met back in high school.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Yep," he replied, and his voice was a little huskier, his eyes were noticeably brighter, and he laughed. His laughter began with a chuckle, and grew until he shook enough for the tears to escape from the corners of his eyes. I joined him: crying, laughing, nose running, holding onto him for support.

We both laughed.

We laughed when we heard our Little One's heartbeat for the first time, and we laughed ten weeks later when she spread her legs wide for the ultrasound tech, revealing without a doubt that she was a girl. We laughed when Seth accidentally coated his ass with pink paint as we decorated the nursery, and we laughed as we tried to assemble the crib.

I didn't laugh when I was in labor. Not once. There's nothing funny about childbirth.

Rosalie laughed a lot as she watched Seth and I battle with slings and pack-n-plays and sterilizers. Once we'd struggled enough, though, she's swoop in and set it all right in a matter of seconds.

Seth and I both of giggled when Alice awkwardly clutched our little daughter in her hands for the first time, and we nearly died laughing when thick, mustard-colored poo leaked out of Little One's diaper and smeared itself all over Alice's black leather halter.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

My daughter deteriorates into a giggling mess with mention of her poop on Alice's expensive shirt. Seth smirks too. I try valiantly not to laugh. We're seated at the dinner table and we have rules about potty humor.

"My weird yellow poop," my daughter gasps, bent double.

Seth spots my stoic face and tries to quell his laughter. "You're the one that brought on the feces talk, Bell. Don't give us that look."

"Was Alice mad about the poop?" Little One asks, catching her breath.

"No, Alice was excited to meet you, poop and all. Everyone was so glad you came," I assure her. "You've seen all of the cards in your baby book."

After my daughter's birth, congratulatory messages poured in from publishers, producers, actors, and hundreds upon hundreds of my readers from around the world. My mom and dad even sent packages.

"Of course I've seen the baby book, Mommy," she says with a roll of her eyes. She's leafed through it countless times over the years. She likes to learn about each of the countries the different cards were sent from.

Seth excuses himself from the table.

"You and Daddy were happiest of all, right?" she asks.

I roll my eyes, making not so subtle fun of her. "Of course," I assure her.

I remember those days right after her birth. Winter dragged on despite the bright little sunshine I carried in my arms. I'd sit down each morning with a cooing and gurgling little baby, a big mug of hot tea, and a stack of mail. She'd quietly nurse as I read letters, unwrapped baby-warming gifts and wrote out thank you cards. She was my little light on those dreary San Francisco mornings, pulling me out of bed and sending me back into the world with a genuine smile on my face.

"Little One," I'd murmur, tapping her nose and she'd kick her feet. "Little Light."

"Gah!" she'd agree.

xXxXx

When Seth returns to the dining room he slides a small yellow card across the table to our daughter. His smile is strained. My breath catches in my throat.

"Hey, I don't know this one!" she exclaims as she studies the small baby chick on the front of the card. The chick's holding an umbrella. Baby cards tend toward the absurd.

My daughter flips it open and studies the sloping script. I'd recognize the handwriting anywhere. By now, I think Little One does as well.

**Bella,**

**Something this momentous is impossible to pretend to ignore. Sincere congratulations.**

**EMC**

"_He _was happy I was born, too?" she asks with wonder. She traces the letters with her little fingertip. I shudder at the sight of it.

"Yep," Seth agrees.

I'm floored that he's finally willing to bring this to our little girl's attention. The card was never slipped into one of the slots of her baby book. Neither was the…

Seth places the small stuffed chick on the table in front of him. My heart hurts. My head pounds.

"For me?" my daughter asks.

I can only nod.

"Yep, it was for you, kiddo," Seth agrees. He tosses it into her hands and she begins to play with its little yellow wings. This is an enormous departure from the day the card and the chick arrived in the mail. It serves as a reminder of just how much has changed in the past six years.

xXxXx

**March 11, 2005 – Our first argument as parents**

The morning I opened Edward's card its presence trapped me at the table with weak knees, a racing heart and wet eyes. After my daughter was born I'd had that niggling feeling that I suddenly understood Edward, and there in my hands was proof that Edward knew me right back. He had a daughter and he understood the joy and the life-changing love they could bring.

Then I unwrapped the tiny plush chick and dropped it onto the tabletop in front of me. It sagged and its synthetic coat was lacking that telltale new toy luster. Its tag was a little less than white. Some seams were loose. In the space of a second, a morbid, heartbreaking hunch lodged itself in my mind. My vision blurred as I stared into the chick's black button eyes. I would have bet a considerable sum of money that the little toy was approximately fifteen years old. Or I was simply mad. Years later, I found out that my intuition had been right.

Even without that confirmation, though, I rocked my daughter and wept, and tried not to drown in my own love.

It shouldn't be possible to love the man that's hurt you more than anyone else on the face of the earth. After so many years, I had to attempt honesty and face facts: I didn't even know Edward anymore, let alone love him. If anything, I loved a time in my life and a person that went with it.

1987 through 1989 played like an old silent film in my mind. It was shone in sepia, with golden light pervading each frame. It was beautiful.

Through it all, that little chick stood insignificant and proud on my kitchen table. It stood as proof that the way Edward hurt me was very real, and impossible to undo, and the small baby in my arms reminded me that I could heal.

Seth wasn't exactly transfixed by Edward's gift the same way I'd been.

"Motherfucking son of a bitch," he groaned as he went to toss the card in the trash.

"Hey!" I objected, shooting up out of my seat for the first time since I'd opened the mail.

"_He_'s got nothing to do with our daughter," Seth argued, holding up the card in his hand like it was a call to arms.

"Neither do my readers or your students, but we don't trash their gifts.

"If we find out that any of them are assholes of the same magnitude that Edward Motherfucking Cullen is, you have my wholehearted permission to burn whatever they've sent."

"And if Jake sent a card?" I challenged.

"Jake never -"

"Exactly," I interrupted. "Jake never did anything. Edward was the most real…" I paused, not sure how to continue. "I loved him, a lot. And he's happy for me."

"You're all hopped up on hormones, Bell. I don't want his dysfunction touching this family."

"I don't want to pretend it didn't happen anymore, Seth. I don't want to forget how I felt – the good or the bad."

"Fine, keep your feeling; keep your card," Seth said, tossing it on the table in front of me. "But it's not going anywhere near our child. And I'll be damned if she's going to play with that thing," he said nodding to the sad little stuffed animal. "That's your baggage, Bella. It's not touching my kid."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

I watch my daughter examine the stuffed bird in her hands. She tentatively peeks at me through fluffy, fake feathers. "He knew when I was born, Mommy."

It's not a question. Her real question has gone unasked. It's on the tip of her tongue. Seth's given me an in. I can see that he's also waiting to hear what I'm going to say; how I'll couch any of this in terms a six year old can understand. His trust is so implicit that I'm staggered. My love for him knows no bounds.

I take a deep breath.

"You wanted to know why Edward and I broke up, right, Little One?" I ask.

She nods and places the small baby bird in her lap. She holds on tight.

"A long time before you were born, Sweetie, Mommy got pregnant.

"With _me_?"

"Before you, Honey. Another little baby."

"Did Daddy do it?" she asks, knitting her little brows together and peering across the table at her father.

"Edward Cullen did it," he replies, grimly.

Her eyes go wide.

"We weren't ready for babies, though, for a lot of different reasons… And the baby - it wasn't ready for this world either. The baby died when it was very tiny – before it could be born."

"The baby is in heaven?" she asks.

"Maybe," I hedge. I'm uncertain about heaven, for unborn babies or otherwise.

She sighs. I press on.

"All of the surprise and hurt that came with that baby… it tore me up inside. It was too much for Edward. Edward was sick and very sad, and he left me when he found out."

She slides off her seat, climbs onto my lap and grasps my hands in hers. The chick falls on the floor. "He left?"

I nod.

"And the baby died?"

I nod again.

"That's not nice."

"No, it isn't."

Her forehead scrunches. I wonder what the hell I'm doing and why. I'm being fair. I'm being truthful. I'm telling a story.

"After that, it was supposed to be very hard for mommy to have any more babies in my belly. But you came anyway."

"Daddy loved you and helped put the baby in there," she says, re-telling the facts as she knows them.

"And I love your daddy too."

"But not in the kissing way," she states with an assured nod of her little head.

"Right," I agree.

"Daddy didn't leave."

I can't help but smile. "No, he didn't."

"And you're not sad anymore?"

"Sometimes, when I think about that little baby and what I lost, sometimes I still get sad. But now I have you and your Daddy, and I know you're not going anywhere. It reminded me how to love and how good it feels to love, and I'm much happier these days."

"I'm glad, Mommy."

"Me too, Little One."

She gently kicks at the small stuffed chick with her toes, twirling it in circles.

"Mommy? Is Edward sorry for making you sad?"

"It took him much too long to say it, but he told me he was sorry. He's told me many, many times."

"Mommy?"

"Yes, Little One?"

"Is Edward still sad?"

I'm not sure how to answer. I check in with Seth. He raises his eyebrows.

"Part of Edward will always be sad. If not, it would mean he didn't have a conscience. Life goes on, though."

"Does his family make him happy, like your family makes you happy?"

I shake my head in the negative. The questions are getting harder to answer. There's no comparing Edward's family to mine.

xXxXx

**March 17, 2006 – My daughter's first steps… My first steps…**

Little One would clutch the edge of the sofa and let go, then do one or two deep knee bends, sway like a skyscraper in an earthquake, reach for the coffee table, and just as you were certain she'd take that first step, she'd grab onto the sofa again.

I was armed with a camcorder and a camera, and my cell was in my pocket just in case it happened when Seth was at work and I needed to place an quick call.

"You can do it, Little One!" I encouraged. "Come here, baby!"

"Ma!"

"That's right, come to Mama!"

She looked between the coffee table and me, she reached out her chubby little hand, and then she abruptly swung her pudgy body around and began gnawing on a throw pillow instead. Drool dripped down the side of the couch.

My phone rang in my pocket.

"Seth?" I asked without looking at the caller I.D. He'd been afraid he was going to miss it, calling every hour or so. Little did he know I was poised to capture the moment with three different forms of media.

"_Bella?"_ Alice's voice warbled on the other end of the phone, catching me by surprise.

"Alice?"

"_I can't make our meeting_," she sniffled.

My stomach had been in knots about meeting Alice to talk about the most recent novel I'd written. It was something of a departure from my usual style and I was worried about what she'd think. I was pretty sure my writing wasn't what had left her sobbing on the other end of the line, though.

"Alice, what's wrong?"

I watched my daughter swaying out of the corner of my eyes, her hands held out at her sides, like she was balancing on a tight rope.

"_Esme Cullen passed yesterday, Bella."_

"Esme?"

"_It was quick… shocking, kind of. Edw- I mean, No one saw it coming. She seemed fine the last time I saw her_."

I sank into a chair and surprised myself when I quickly calculated that Esme must have been in her early seventies. Time had flown, and suddenly I felt guilty that I hadn't been in contact for nearly ten years. For a brief span of time when I'd needed her the most, Esme had been like a mother to me. And despite all the times Edward had argued that his mother was weak, she'd certainly lived a long life… mostly alone.

It was the alone part that killed me.

Leaving her so completely when I left New York suddenly didn't seem as bold an idea as it once did. There were better ways to go about things.

"_Bella_?" Alice asked. "_Are you still there_?"

"I need the information about the funeral services, Alice."

I dashed into the kitchen searching for a pen, then jogged into the office and pulled out a pad of paper. By the time I made it back into the living room, my daughter was toddling unsteadily around the living room like she'd been walking, maybe not all her life, but for hours, at least. That's when I started to cry.

xXxXx

"No _fucking_ way!" Seth hissed, trying to keep his voice down. It had been unusually hard to get our daughter down that evening. She'd wanted to walk the night away.

"Two days," I countered.

"I've got three lectures and office hours over the next two days, Bella. I can't do it."

"I'll call a sitter."

"I said no!"

"Oh my god, Seth, you're not my husband or my keeper, and you're certainly not my father. You can't tell me what I can do."

"When was the last time you even saw Esme Cullen?"

"That's my point! She took care of me when no one else would. She was so sweet, and she went through so much in her life, and…"

"And you just want to see _him_. You want to pull an Edward Cullen and show up out of the fucking blue and -"

"Everything comes back to Edward with you, you know that?" I accused.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you," he quipped, throwing up his hands and stomping out of the room.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked, slipping in front of him and blocking his path, forcing Seth to face me. When his eyes settled on me, though, I was surprised to see them full of pain and worry, instead of anger, like I'd expected.

"It's just two days. I'll call the sitter right now," I offered.

"Don't go, Bella."

"I have to."

xXxXx

Scores of older people I didn't recognize milled around a musty lobby. There were lush leafy plants, plenty of velvet and lace, and the floors were covered with that gray and mauve floral carpet that was probably made especially for funeral homes. "Flannery" was being mourned in the first room, "Davis" in the second, and my heart began beating double time when I read "Cullen" on the small black sign furthest from the entrance.

I fought the urge to turn around and high-tale it out of there. As far as I knew, Esme wouldn't have any idea that I'd flown across the continent to see her dead body. I could simply leave and find a bar and try for a wild, daughter-free night on the town.

Or I could face the sweet woman whose gentle kindness helped me to move on with my life.

As I scanned the "Cullen" room full of black clad mourners and garish bouquets of flowers, I knew that I didn't really have a choice. I took a tentative step over the threshold and caught sight of Alice near the front of the room. Her eyes went wide when she spotted me and she glanced nervously at the man to her right.

I shivered. Edward's profile hadn't changed at all; he was still tall, thin, and strikingly handsome… I leaned against the wall for support.

I watched as Alice whispered in his ear. I watched as he searched the room until his eyes found me. They were just as sad as I remembered. As if on cue, we both bit our bottoms lips. His fists clenched and unclenched. I watched him try to focus on the guests that approached to shake his hand and pat his back and offer condolences.

Edward's shoulders sagged and a man to his left patted his arm in support. I let out an audible gasp when I recognized Jasper Whitlock. Up until that moment I'd hardly seen them in the same room, let alone touching.

More people entered and I was pushed toward the front of the room on a wave of grief. As I shuffled, I looked everywhere but at Edward. I didn't see any sign of the infamous Carlisle Cullen, or Edward's ex-wife or daughter. Yellow lilies surround the casket. Alice's face was tearstained. I was moving closer.

Hands were shaken. Hugs given. And then, sooner than I'd expected, it was my turn. Up close, Edward's somber green eyes were more brilliant than I'd remembered. I was struck by the sweep of his dark eyelashes. The lines on his forehead were deeper; his temples were graying. I breathed the same air he was breathing. In and out. That was the way to do it. In and out. He was so tall, like Seth, but not like Seth at all.

Alice reached out and touched my hand, reminding me that I should speak.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," I managed.

"She always loved you," Edward replied, taking me by surprise. It wasn't just his admonition that Esme loved me, but also the way his voice could still make me feel.

"Your mother was such a good person. I just wish…" I stopped myself. There were too many things I wished. If I got started, there's no telling what I might say.

"Thank you so much for coming," Edward murmured, his voice gravely and uneven.

I clasped his hands in mine. After a breath, handholding turned into a spontaneous hug. His arms felt the same. I held on. He sniffed. We both breathed. I tried not to cry.

"Thank you for the card last year," I said after Edward let me go.

I was gifted with a shallow smile.

"I always wanted the best for you, Bella. I knew you could have it," Edward murmured.

The line of people became backed up as they waited their turn. I felt suddenly rushed.

"Take care, Edward," I said as I squeezed his hands.

"Give that little girl a hug for me," he requested.

I wanted to tell him to do the same, but I'd just read that Edward lost his most recent custody hearing. My heart lurched. I needed to get away. I felt skin slipping over skin as I pulled my hands away from his. Fingertips curled. Hanging on. Tears streamed. I could hardly see straight by the time I made it to his mother's coffin.

Esme Cullen appeared waxen and unnaturally pale. I didn't linger long. I said a silent good-bye and offered both an overdue apology and a thank you. I prayed for her son. Then I took a seat in the back of the room and sat through the short sermon that followed, listening to the life I never knew Esme Cullen had: the charities she'd founded, the boards she'd sat on. She was so much more than I'd given her credit for.

She'd requested that her ashes should be sprinkled in the Hudson, the same body of water she gazed out on every day as she washed the dishes. I didn't attend the little ceremony the next day, though. I had a daughter to get back to.

xXxXx

Alice stayed in New York for close to a month. I was sincerely glad that Edward would have someone to lean on as he set his mother's affairs in order. Eventually, though, she returned, and I knew I'd have to face her assessment of my latest story.

I began writing my last novel the old-fashioned way: with a pen and paper as my infant daughter slept in my lap. I'd rock and write and my penmanship sloped and slipped, ebbing and flowing to the sounds of Mozart for Babies.

I was more than surprised when I found a love story flowing from the tip of my pen. To me, the sentiments seemed sickly sweet. I half wondered if I should drop my current publishing house and throw in my lot with Harlequin. Re-reading each chapter nearly made me wince, but made me feel warm inside as well. I decided that I must have gone soft with old age.

As a result, I had serious doubts about sending that first draft off to Alice, who wasn't known for being overly sentimental. I couldn't imagine what she'd think. My agent was just the tip of the iceberg, though. My regular readers were about to be thrown a curve ball. The story continued to pour out of my pen despite my misgivings. It was like a rushing river of sugary sweet fluff, like a missing scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

"_Don't jump in there, Charlie! It will leave you with unrealistic notions about love and life, not to mention intractable tooth decay!"_

The fateful day finally arrived, though. Six weeks after our initial appointment, I found Alice seated across the kitchen table from me. My anxiety was mirrored in the way my agent fidgeted, and I'm pretty sure she pulled a little bottle out of her purse and poured a shot into her coffee when she thought I wasn't looking.

I eyed the manuscript she'd placed on the table in front of her.

"So," she began.

My daughter interrupted as she charged past us like a drunken midget, toppling everything in her wake. I rescued my fichus and caught the coat rack just in time.

"So," Alice repeated as I pulled my daughter onto my lap. Little One reached desperately for Alice's spiked coffee, but I pushed it out of her way.

"So?" I prompted.

"It's _different_," Alice offered judiciously.

"I know," I replied.

"How'd this happen?" she asked.

"Pen, paper, vivid imagination?" I suggested. My little one shimmied off my lap and took off down the hall.

"Hormones, maybe?" I guessed again, taking another stab at the reason that storyline popped into my head. I peeked down the hall, anticipating my daughter's eventual cry and hoping she didn't find some random thing we hadn't managed to baby-proof. Who was I kidding? Of course she would. I started in the direction of my daughter's babbling voice, but Alice held me in place.

"This is bigger than hormones, Bella. This is… _revolutionary_!"

"What?"

"Bella, this is, like, golden. This is fucking beautiful. It's like a love story masquerading as a serious piece of literature. Or it's serious literature that people will actually read… because it's a love story. But it's better, too… It's current, and deep… and there are layers, and… just, _wow_."

"What?" I asked again, because, seriously, what had I just written?

"Wow," she repeated. "That's my official assessment."

I plopped into a chair, flabbergasted. Alice took another long swig of coffee and then took a deep breath.

"And the crazy thing is that this is actually the second piece of remarkable writing I've received in the past few weeks."

"The _second_?" I asked, finding it difficult to concentrate. I was still floored about what she'd said about the first piece of remarkable writing. Not to mention that I had no idea she worked with other writers; just a few aging rockers here and there.

"Yeah… the second. The other's from… a first time writer," Alice explained.

"Oh. Remarkable, huh?"

"I'd say. I haven't read the entire thing. I couldn't, really. But the bits and pieces I glanced at blew me the fuck away." Alice took another long sip of coffee and fidgeted in her seat.

"So, are you going to represent them?" I asked, wondering why she'd moved the conversation in this direction when she clearly felt uncomfortable talking about it.

"Not exactly," she hedged, rooting through her bag and refusing to make eye contact.

My daughter charged past with a roll of toilet paper in her hand and white sheets of paper fluttered in her wake. I pulled the cardboard tube from her little mitts and went to work collecting the paper that was tangled in plants and stuck under doors.

"I brought it with me," Alice called down the hall.

"What?" I asked, making my way back to the kitchen, noticing the second manuscript that was suddenly sitting next to mine.

"He began writing it a few years back… I asked to see it. I couldn't finish. It's not for me, really."

"You're being oddly cryptic, Alice."

She slid the manuscript across the table.

The top page was blank.

Alice quirked an eyebrow. I flipped to the second page.

**"Someday I want to tell stories about you. About us. Someday I wish we could look back and say, 'Remember that day when I kissed you for the first time?'" **

The world fell away. All I saw were the words on the page.

"What is this?" I'm pretty sure I was the one that asked the question, but my voice came to me from a distance.

"I convinced him to let me have this. It wasn't easy," Alice's disembodied voice explained.

"What _is _this?"

I fell into a chair and slid the papers onto my lap. The pile was heavy. It had weight.

"I thought you should have it, especially after reading your last novel. You're both idiots, and I love you both, and it's so stupid. Life's too goddamned short, okay?"

A chair clattered. A child streaked by holding a lamppost. Alice ran after her.

**Chapter 1 – The Scar**

**She deserves so many answers… I'll start with the simplest.**

**The summer before fifth grade I was playing at a playground near the projects by my family's apartment. I liked to spin on the swings instead of swinging back and forth, but the chains were rusty and… **_**things**_** became tangled.**

**My genitals are the least of it, though. **

**I once wrote "To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die." I was wrong. It's the living that counts. Living by Bella's side was such a heavenly way to live… Leaving her left a scar that will, in all likelihood, never heal.**

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The response to the last chapter was just… wow. Thank you for all of your support in all its various forms: reviews, tweets, discussions on Twilighted & ADF, email threads, and of course, my TiaL girls on fb…**

**A bunch of people have asked how long this is going to be. The answer: no more than 20 chapters. I'm not sure on the exact number just yet. Trust that there won't be 181.**

**So… my life's changing a bit. As a result, time is going to be a hard commodity to come by starting next week. I'm going to do my best to continue weekly updates, but I can't make any guarantees. I don't want to write a rushed, half-assed ending, so you guys might have to wait.**

**Out of all the coming changes, I think I'm going to miss Teaser Wars most of all. Fiction Freak 95 & Troublefollows have been formidable opponents & I love them both to death.  
><strong>

**Thanks for the amazing ride so far. Until next time, xxx, M**


	17. You Just Haven't Earned it Yet, Baby

**A/N: I want to thank everyone for waiting (mostly) patiently while I try to figure out how to make my new job work with my fake fanfic career. Of course, many, many thanks to Team TiaL: MaryJaneStew and KikiTheDreamer are the best a girl could ask for.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Does his family make him happy, like your family makes you happy?"<em>

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"He has a little girl, but -"

"A little girl like _me_?" my daughter asks, on the edge of her seat.

"No one's quite like you, Little One," Seth cuts in.

"She's a bit older. She's almost thirteen," I explain. I leave out the details about DNA and biology. That doesn't matter. Simply comparing my own mother with Esme demonstrates that the bonds of fealty are often stronger than a double helix.

Little One's eyes go wide. "A teenager?"

I can't help but smile. My daughter worships teenagers. "Yes, at thirteen, Elizabeth would be a teenager."

"_Wow_."

"But he doesn't get to see her very much," I add.

"Oh, that's sad."

"It is; it's very sad," I agree. "Sometimes, though, when your own family doesn't make you happy you can find another family… with friends and other people you love."

"Like you did?" my daughter asks.

I nod. "Your daddy, Aunt Rose, and Alice will always be there for me, no matter what. They're the best family, ever."

"Does Edward have good friends?" she asks.

Seth excuses himself to clear the table.

"Alice is Edward's friend," I answer judiciously. Edward and I aren't exactly friends. I believe wholeheartedly that some people cannot be friends.

"Oh," she answers, relieved. "That's good. Alice is nice."

I chuckle under my breath. Nice was never a word I'd have associated with Alice. Alice is efficient, business-minded and she speaks her mind. Of course, she's also fiercely loyal and follows her heart. When we first met, she was overly protective of Edward. Over the years, she's looked out for us both, until it nearly tore her at the seams.

"And Alice is our friend too, Mommy," my daughter says, thinking out loud. I watch the wheels turning in her small head.

xXxXx

**May 1****st****, 2006 – Question: How can answers leave you guessing? Answer: When they're given to you by Edward Cullen.**

Alice was sitting across from me. Tiny feet pattered around the house. None of that mattered, though. I had Edward's account of our relationship in my hands.

**When I met Bella Swan, by the looks of her, she could have been fourteen. If you closed your eyes and listened to her speak, though, she should have been forty-five. It was her thin, pretty body and wild, wet hair that originally moved my feet in her direction, but I would have had no problem walking away from any other teenager. Bella Swan spoke though, and I was caught. More surprising still, I wanted to be caught. So, I sat confounded, staring at muddy water, ignoring mosquitoes, and I let her speak, and I would have stayed there forever. **

**She was pretty, but it was her words that pulled me in. They were the anchor that kept me from drifting. Her words were stunning.**

"I get it, Bella. You've got a sweet thing here. This little bandit is adorable," Alice said, grabbing my daughter, pulling her onto her lap and wrestling a rolling pin from her hands, before Little One could wriggle out of her grasp and run away again. "And Seth's awesome, but unless your pussy is magical enough to change sexual orientations on contact, or to sprout a dick when necessary – you're not getting everything you need out of this arrangement."

**I resisted the urge to hold her hand as we walked back to Emmett and the waiting car. I left a good four feet between us just in case that inclination found a way around my good judgment and went straight for my body. I'd never cared to hold hands before, but at that moment I wanted nothing more than to feel this person's skin against mine. I wanted to warm her; I wanted to keep her. I repulsed myself. She was a child. I was a letch. I touched her back. I whispered in her ear. I was lost.**

"I don't need anything else, Alice," I explained absently, unable to pull my eyes from the page. Clearly, I'd never needed anything more than the book of answers in my lap.

"Everyone needs some real, physical love and then a good fuck, Bella. Don't give me that crap," Alice retorted.

"Blah, gah ah!" My daughter agreed, charging past us, rattling a maraca.

"But, I -"

"Your vibrator doesn't count."

**I settled in for our ride to the eastern edge of Long Island, silently berating myself for using my power to entertain myself… with a young girl. But she made me almost forget the tumult I'd left behind at the amphitheater, so I kept her by force, using the allure of my car and driver, using my smile. **

**I knew what I was to Bella Swan, and I knew that the situation was more than unfair to her. There's no telling what Lou Reed could have made me do when I was her age. Her age… Despite her intellect, she was only sixteen. I was walking a line that disgusted me. How many times had I cursed Caius and Marcus for this kind of appetence? **

"It's like Edward fucked up royally, so you've both given up completely in some ways. You both love your kids. I get it. Kids are little and funny, and when they don't have crap in their pants, they even smell good. Kids don't mean shit, though, when you're lying alone in bed at night. Kids can't make the machinery in your nightstand turn into a person."

**Yet, we were able to speak to one another, and my fears fell away, one by one. Talking with Bella Swan was freeing and funny. She was witty and wise, and had a unique understanding of her own naïveté. I'm not sure it's possible to be both naïve and aware. Perhaps Bella was the first person in history to accomplish that feat. History didn't matter, though. This wasn't about history. It was about discovering someone amazing. Bella Swan was wonderful.**

"If you weren't Bella, 'I don't want to even hear his name again' Swan and he wasn't Edward, 'Honor whatever she tells you to do' Cullen, I would've tried to fix the two of you up years ago. When I saw this, though, I couldn't -"

Alice's ramblings hit a nerve and I was able to finally look her in the eye.

"You were there, Alice. You saw what he did to me. Even better, you've already picked sides. You said so yourself."

"But then Esme died and I realized you both still love one another, and life doesn't go on forever. You could die, any day, and so could he, and how would that feel? Would either of you ever let yourselves love again? For better or for worse you guys both called it quits when your relationship ended. That's fucking tragic. It belongs in the pages of one of your books, not in real life."

"I'll never forget what he did."

"He'll never forgive himself."

"That seems appropriate."

Alice slid a piece of stationary across the table. On it, she'd written a phone number and an email address. "He'll never get in touch with you. Not in a million years. You have a family and he won't fuck with that."

xXxXx

My daughter will never see the book Edward wrote about our relationship. I'd say that she has to wait until she's older, but no young adult wants to read about their mother in those terms. Perhaps when I'm dead and buried she'll be curious. At any rate, it won't be part of the visual portion of the story I'm telling her about Edward Cullen and The Masens.

Edward used to both make fun of and admire me for my dirty writing, but I can't hold a candle to his prose. Edward writes like a man and he wrote his manuscript like a man that never thought his words would see the light of day, let alone the light of his former lover's eyes. He didn't color every scene pink at the edges; he didn't couch actions in flowery prose.

**I fucked Bella every chance I got, and when the moment didn't present itself I stole the opportunity. Nothing felt as good as having my cock buried deep inside her cunt. Nothing felt as good as having her bare and naked against me, under me, on top of me, around me. **

**She was young, hot, dripping wet – fucking beautiful, and she was more, too. Bella was innocent and too good and too fucking sexy in that way where the girl doesn't even know it. To bite on her tit and thrust, to own her orgasms, to make her cum, to fuck her so hard that the walls of the apartment shook, to feel it in my toes and in my chest, and then to feel the rise and fall of her tits after she fell asleep on top of me... those were some of the best moments of my life. Those were the moments when I suddenly knew what it meant to be alive. She was a fucking goddess. And after all those years on a stage and in front of crowds, it wasn't until my cock was lost in her that I felt like a god.**

I'm jumping ahead to the fucking portion of Edward's story, but the fucking portion was spectacular. Alice was very nearly wrong. Reading Edward's descriptions of sex with me were far better than my vibrator. I slept easy those nights.

**She wanted sunshine and I gave her sunshine. I'd stare at her wet pussy glistening in the bright afternoon light and then I'd plunge my dick inside her and her cries were lost to the sound of the traffic below us and the chatter of pigeons.**

He fucked me, often. He fucking loved it. He liked to lay with me too. And play with my hair. And those countless sleepless nights of his were often spent trying to keep himself from slipping a finger into my pussy and listening to the sounds I'd make in my sleep. Sometimes he'd palm my tits, and more often than not, that would wake me up enough so that he could fuck me some more… because he liked fucking me more than anyone else he'd ever done before… or anything he's done since. I just added the part about 'since'. Anything that happened after he left me wasn't included in the book.

The manuscript began when we met on June 13th 1987…

"**What do you want?" she asked.**

"**Want?" I laughed. I wanted her to be about ten years older and then I wanted to peel off her shirt and suck on the tips of her pretty tits. "I want to take a seat."**

**She jumped up and covered her mouth, staring at me like I was some kind of imaginary vision. I almost felt guilty. **

"**I startled you. I'm sorry."**

"**No, it's okay, I just thought you were my friend."**

**I clearly wasn't a friend. I was more likely the same age as a friend of her father's or a creepy uncle. I had to stop looking at her chest. Her tits were small and perky and staring at me through a picture of myself. It was disarming.**

"**Should I go?" I asked**

**I meant to say that I should go. There was clearly no question involved. I had no business there.**

And it ended when he ran out of his apartment on April 11th, 1990…

**I finally left much, much too late. I left at the one and only time when I definitely should have stayed. I left Bella without looking back. I left her crying on my bed, naked and pregnant. I left Alice and Emmett to try to pick up the pieces. I left and Emmett had me quietly committed. I was a danger to myself. I hated myself. And I longed for Bella, but I was certain I was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. I would have run back to her and drowned her. I would have apologized as I killed her the way my father killed my mother.**

At the very end, there was a hand-written edit. "The way my father killed my mother" was circled in red ink.

'**I was wrong**,' was scrawled in the margin. He left no explanation as to what he'd been wrong about. He didn't need to, of course. This writing was only for one set of eyes, and the explanation lay buried in his brain.

Was he wrong about his father and mother? Was he wrong about the two of us? Was he wrong to have left? Was he wrong about everything?

I read the manuscript once straight through and set it aside. My palms burned; my mind reeled. I was left aching and angry, wondering and newly wounded. I had answers in my hands, but really, the same old questions still remained. All along I'd guessed at the 'why'.

**Manic depression was a label I consciously walked away from. It described a pattern of actions and thoughts, but its treatment left me a dim shadow of myself. I was better off living alone and taking joy as I found it, then keeping to myself when the dark times hit. The immobile shades of gray that lithium brought weren't worth living for.**

But the 'how' was still as elusive, as in, how the hell could he just up and leave a woman he claimed to care about as much as he did me? Not to mention, that buried within thousands of words, there was little to no indication that he'd ever actually loved me. He was enamored by me. He was astounded by my analyses. He needed me. He was drawn to me. He'd never felt anything like he felt when we were together.

I'd subconsciously scanned the document, with my mind in Control+ F mode, searching for the word love. I found it sometime just before he left me, so close to the end.

**Loving Bella Swan was the beginning and the end of everything. It sliced me open, pinned me down and kept me immobile, until the only possible outcome was certain disaster.**

It wasn't much of a declaration. It didn't warm my heart. Not to mention, I kept coming back to the little message in red at the very end: I was wrong.

xXxXx

I hid the manuscript from Seth. I kept Edward's phone number and email address in my pocket for an entire week, until I couldn't take it anymore. Then I broke down and gave Alice a call.

"When, Alice?"

"_And it's a pleasure to hear your voice too_, _Bella,"_ Alice chirped.

"When was this written? When?"

There was a significant pause.

"_You'd have to ask Edward. I don't know for sure_."

"Alice," I practically growled.

"_Bella_," she parroted back.

"What's this supposed to mean?"

"_At the very least, my dear, it means that you were the love of Edward Cullen's life_."

"But how could someone do this to the love of their life? There are no answers, really, there's just all th -"

"_You'd have to_ -"

"Ask him," I finished. "You did this on purpose."

"_Damn right_," she agreed.

I held out another week. I re-read some of my, ahem, favorite parts.

**With Bella, something so simple, something I'd fucking thrown away in the past, was completely new. Suddenly, it was like I was hearing music for the first time. Then, kissing for the first time. Everything was a first: the first time I really felt a woman's soft skin under my fingertips, the first time I tasted a woman's cunt, the first time I actually made love. It was like, with her touch, she turned me on and I was seeing, touching, feeling, speaking, reading… and I may as well have never done any of it before. **

**I wished I'd never done any of it before.**

**She made the world beautiful. She made me think for the briefest glimpses of time that I wasn't bad, that I was simply one human being enthralled with another. **

And when I couldn't take it anymore, I sat down at my computer, took a deep breath, and changed my life.

**Edward,**

**I hope you're well. I'd like to see you sometime, if that's possible. Alice mentioned you've moved back to New York. I have no plans to visit the East Coast anytime soon, but perhaps we could work something out.**

**Bella**

The thing about retired rocks stars that dabble in music production and various pet projects is that they can fly anywhere they want to, any damn time they deem it necessary.

His answer came within minutes. I broke out in a cold sweat when I heard the telltale ping and saw his name pop up in my inbox.

**Bella,**

**I can be in San Francisco the day after tomorrow. Would that suit you?**

**Edward**

Would the day after tomorrow suit me? There was no etiquette for a situation such as this one. I checked back in with one of the dog-eared pages of the manuscript.

**She was such a complete person, even at sixteen. She was full of original, insightful ideas, not to mention that she was honest and wise. I felt a rush each time I received another of her letters, eager to read how she'd interpreted the newest piece of music I sent to her, wondering what turn of phrase she'd surprise me with. It was so much more than that, though. Bella's words were like missing pieces of my soul. When I read her prose, the pieces were put back in place. I was better for them. I was better for her.**

I decided that it _would_ suit me to see Edward the day after tomorrow. With just two more emails we had plans in place to meet for lunch only miles from my home.

What the hell was I doing? I wasn't sure and it worried me to no end.

I worried for a full day and a half. I kept myself on edge with passages from Edward's book.

**Bella tended towards stubborn and childish after the last minute NYC add-on and she was skinny enough that there seemed to be about a foot of empty space between her thighs. She was gaunt and defiant and on the edge of falling off the face of the earth. She had no one. I convinced myself that I had to have been better than no one. I told myself I was helping her, but I knew, even then, how much I needed her, how much my existence had grown to revolve around hers.**

Then, I'd lock myself in a bathroom and spend some alone time with passages of a different ilk while I found a way back down to earth.

**Besides the bed, my favorite place to fuck her was the kitchen table, preferably in the midst of preparing a meal. There was something about lemons falling onto the floor and crumbs coating her tits that made her even more delicious.**

My brain wouldn't shut off. I hardly slept and it had nothing to do with my daughter.

"Dude, Bell, what's the deal?" Seth asked one night after dinner.

"Alice being pushy," I said with a (hopefully) offhanded shrug, ducking into my bedroom and closing the door behind me. It wasn't completely honest, but I was confident that I could anticipate Seth's opinion of the situation. There was the chance I'd listen to his voice of reason and I'd cancel. I couldn't afford that possibility.

Resolution dangled tantalizingly close and I aimed to grab it while I could.

When _the_ morning came I worried that the babysitter wouldn't show. When she came right on time and mentioned how pretty I looked, I worried she was onto me; like she could somehow deduce that I was about to have lunch with the much older, formerly famous man that wrote songs about me, fucked me senseless, and broke my heart when I was a teenager.

I worried that I'd get caught in traffic and I'd be late. I worried that Edward would get lost and that I hadn't given him a phone number where he could reach me. Then I worried that I'd arrived too early. I sat in the car and stared at the stereo. I hadn't turned it on because I worried every song would remind me of Edward.

I was sure that whatever I was doing, I was definitely wrong. At the same time I knew there was no turning back. I didn't want to turn back. I settled on some deep breathing exercises, a few drops of some natural sedative-type stuff I'd found on Seth's shelf in the bathroom, and one last make-up check.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"If Alice is Edward's friend and Alice is your friend, why aren't we all friends together?" my daughter asks.

Dishes clatter in the sink. I wish Seth would come back.

"I wasn't sure at first, Little One. Some things can never be the same after you've been hurt. Like your knee."

"This one?" she asks, pushing up the leg of her purple jeggings, revealing the raised scar where she'd cut her knee open when she was learning to ride a two-wheeler without training wheels. I'd been sure she was going to need stitches, but they fixed things with some glue and butterfly bandages. Even so, I'm quite certain she'll never be a left knee model.

"Yes. Big wounds usually leave scars, even when they happen to your insides, to your feelings."

"What does that mean, Mommy?"

"Edward left me and I was hurt, but I learned to go on and I made a good life. I helped make you. Alice was Edward's friend, and in a way, I always cared about Edward."

"But you had a scar where you were hurt?"

"Yes."

"Do you still have a scar?"

"Yes."

"Does it matter anymore?"

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The Plan: I posted a shorter than expected chapter this morning and I plan to post another short-ish one on Friday morning. So, you'll get two chapters in one week. I hope that's cool. **

**Does this mean I'll push past my self-imposed 20-chapter limit? Yes, it does. You can all thank MaryJaneStew.**

**As always, thanks for reading. It wouldn't be the same without you guys along for the ride.**

**Until Friday, xxx, M**


	18. How Soon is Now?

**A/N: MaryJaneStew & KikiTheDreamer hold me when I'm flailing. Love. Those. Guys!**

**How Soon is Now? is by The Smiths: ht tp : / / www . youtube . com/watch?v=_U5HpeA_WSo**

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day <strong>

"I think it's important to be mindful of your scars, Little One. They have something to teach you. They make you grow up wiser."

My daughter stares hard at her little knee. "Should I wear knee pads?" she wonders out loud.

"Maybe you should just wait until you know how to ride on two wheels before you try doing it with no hands," Seth laughs as he places a mug of my favorite tea in from of me and takes a seat.

"Oh," she says, pulling down the leg of her pants. "Right."

"People make mistakes: some little ones and some really big ones," I explain. "People that don't learn from those mistakes usually end up making them over and over again."

"To roughly paraphrase George Santayana," Seth adds.

"George Santa-who?"

I shake my head at Seth.

"Not important, Little One," he amends.

"So, yes, the scar still matters," I say, in an attempt to sum everything up.

"And so you didn't want to be Edward's friend?" my daughter asks me, offering up her best pouty, puppy-dog face.

"I didn't know what I wanted, Little One. It took some time before I could be sure about anything."

"Stupid scars," she mumbles.

I know what she means.

xXxXx

**May 3****rd****, 2006 – Answers aren't always easy.**

Over the course of sixteen years, I'd spent hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars to try to therapeutically reason away my love. It could be easily be blamed on parental abandonment, a feeling of indebtedness, and the safety of falling for someone I knew I could never have. I read feminist manifestos, I wrote countless journal entries and I ignored my heart.

Yet a heart ignored continues to beat. You can erect walls, you can put safety measures in place, but the heart won't heed any of it. My heart pulsed and pushed, it pumped and flexed, and it never tired. In the end, it won. I gave birth and I gave in. I allowed space for love.

No one would argue with the idea that I'm headstrong. My head worked as hard as my heart all that time, and it kept my heart in check. It reasoned and theorized about Edward's actions. It worked to preserve my sanity and it helped me to make a life for myself. It did its job well… until I received the two hundred and fifty-six pages that Edward Cullen wrote about me.

His words flayed me and then set me aflame.

My heart asked for Edward. My mind went into a panic. I was lost in a tumult of emotion, where the only thing I could be certain of was the rushing of blood in my ears each night, my heart whispering its wishes.

When I found him waiting in the restaurant, though, it was like all of that was instantaneously compressed into a singularity: Edward Cullen. Everything I'd been feeling was right there, incarnate. He was seated in a booth near the back of a room that was usually reserved for private parties. We'd apparently have the entire area to ourselves. Leave it to Edward to ensure that he received the rock star treatment that I remembered.

As soon as he laid eyes on me, he stood.

I saw Seth each day, hell, I lived with the big guy, but, somehow I was still awed by Edward's height… and his eyes, and his broad shoulders, and the way he tugged a hand through his messy hair when he was nervous. _Wow_, he was nervous.

He made a move to meet me by the doorway and I had to work extremely hard not to fall to pieces in front of him. Instead, I smiled and walked steadily in his direction. I could do this. Edward Cullen was a middle-aged, formerly famous man that had failed miserably at love. I was a mature, successful writer at the top of my game. We were having lunch. We shared a past.

Oh, right, and I loved him.

One of those facts didn't fit with the others.

I attempted to discard the errant emotion.

I was a mother. I had a child to protect. That was a better frame of mind; I could sweep love under the carpet when it came to my daughter.

That didn't mean that Edward's sheepish smile wasn't still as disarming as ever, though. I felt nervous laughter trying to bubble its way up from the pit of my stomach as my eyes swept over him, but managed to quell the sound… I think. I tried for nonchalance and a friendly hug and I was met with strong arms and the smell of Christmas. I closed my eyes and I was a child running my nose along his chest, burying my face in the crook of his neck, tasting his inner thigh. I needed out of his grasp and quickly pulled away. The feelings it brought on were indecent.

_He nearly destroyed you. He doesn't deserve your reaction to his presence. He doesn't deserve you. Your words found the missing pieces of his soul… but he still deserted you, leaving you pregnant and alone in the world._

"Bella," he smiled, taking a step back, looking me over.

"Edward. I see you've found a comfortable corner."

"Steak?" he asked, glancing around at the dark walls and dimly lit wooden booths.

I had my reasons for the choice of restaurant. Seth wouldn't be caught dead at a steakhouse for lunch unless it was the only option left in the San Francisco Bay Area. Even then, he'd probably just make himself a salad and call it a day.

"I thought you'd appreciate the entrance off the alley," I quipped. That was true, too. Edward had a thing for alleys.

That earned me a shy smile, a bitten bottom lip and a nervous sip from his water glass. My mind jumped to page 147 and I tried to examine the menu instead of his mouth.

**Her tits were exactly the right size for my mouth; my lips and tongue were never put to better use than to tease her little nipples and make her whimper and squirm. And then there was her pussy; it was made for my dick. Or better yet, I was made for her. It was like the world was made for her.**

"So," I squeaked, re-crossing my legs.

As Edward glanced up from his glass, his green eyes glittered, standing in sharp contrast to the blood red walls. Green against red; go against stop. I was getting mixed messages. I was looking for messages from the walls. I closed my eyes and tried to regroup.

"Yes?" he asked.

"How was your flight?"

"Fare to middling." He took another sip of his water. He was wearing a watch and a button down shirt, which ran completely counter to the Edward I remembered. Of course it made sense that he'd changed. I hadn't known the man for nearly two decades.

Taking Edward's cue, I went for my water, but coughed as it went down. I was failing at smooth. I needed to speak.

"So, I was thinking -"

"Bella, I need to -"

We started and stopped simultaneously. A waiter dropped our menus on the table and ducked away without going over the specials. I wasn't surprised; I'm certain our entire section of the restaurant was vibrating with anxiety.

Edward licked his lips. My nipples buzzed.

He left me. He fucked a girl almost half his age without a thought of using a condom and then knocked her up and left in a fit of depressed rage. That girl: that was me. It should be over and done with. I shouldn't love him sixteen years later. He shouldn't… _regard _me.

"Bella," he began again.

Before Edward could say another word, I pulled my bag onto my lap and plunged a hand inside. I was flustered and uncertain that I should even be seated across from the man. My body was telling me one thing and my mind was screaming about three-dozen other things, simultaneously. I decided to go with the band-aid approach and do it quickly - cut through the crap and get to the heart of the matter at hand.

I looked Edward steadily in the eye and pretended I didn't notice the way it made me shiver, just like it had the first time we met.

"Tell me this isn't about me."

There was a thud as the manuscript landed on the table. Plates clattered. Ice cubes tinkled. Silverware shimmied. Edward seemed somewhat repelled by the power of the amassed papers. He subtly pressed his back against the booth. Neither of us could look away from the small stack.

"Alice," he sighed under his breath.

"I'm pretty sure it's not about Alice."

"It's not about you?" Edward tried, but the joke fell flat.

I choked back bitter laughter.

"Fuck," he mumbled. "It's about you. But you know that… there's… your name… all over it."

"It's some story," I offered.

"It certainly is."

"So, this," I said, waiving a hand above the manuscript like I hoped I could pull the right words from the air. "This is the version of the story where I'm supposed to be the one that got away?"

This time it was Edward that attempted to stifle his laughter. "Jesus, no. You're not the one that got away, Bella. You're the one. The only one."

"How can you sit across from me and say that?" I demanded.

"Because it's the truth. And for the record, I wasn't planning on saying anything, until… right now?"

"Don't tell me I'm the _one_. I'm the one you're always fucking with. I'm the one you left. The _one_ is about six thousand miles away in London. Isn't she?"

"What? Elizabeth?" he asked.

"Um, Kate? Your ex-wife?"

"Christ," Edward huffed.

"Or Christ. Whoever, but don't write some flowery prose and make some overblown statement when it's not me."

"First of all, I can write whatever I'd like, just like the woman seated across from me can. Second of all, you were engaged. You told me you'd moved on – that you were happy."

"So, you used her?"

"Kate was a friend. Sometimes more, and when she found out that she was pregnant –"

I winced. Edward noticed. His tone changed immediately. He leaned in towards me and his hand actually sought mine out. I pulled it into my lap.

"I try to learn from my mistakes. I'd be a fucking idiot if I didn't learn from the biggest mistake of my life. I had a do-over, a second chance. I tried to make it right."

"How can you say you learned anything, though? _Another_ surprise pregnancy?"

"You're right. There was a chance I -"

"Either you knock someone up or you don't. Chance goes out the fucking window with conception."

"I owe you plenty, Bella, but I don't owe you an explanation when it comes to Kate and Elizabeth."

I blinked back sudden tears, smarting from his verbal smack. Edward was right, after all. After all of this time, he didn't owe me anything with respect to his family. I'd asked him to fly across the continent to speak with me and there I was, chewing him out about birth control. I was a bigger person than that, or at least, that's what I'd have liked to think.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"I had a vasectomy."

The waiter chose that unfortunate moment to take our orders. He half hid behind his little pad as Edward and I woodenly recited items from the menu, and then the man scurried away as quickly as possible.

"I had a vasectomy," Edward repeated, like he'd never stopped to ask about their selection of whiskey and order grilled salmon.

"Um, really?" I was baffled, acutely aware that I wasn't owed that information. Honestly, I didn't necessarily want it, either.

"Before Kate," he added.

"Oh." _What?_

I blinked, trying to see my way through the debris of the informational bomb he'd just let drop. Edward had said something significant, but I was still angry and sad and thrown and, let's face it, turned on by the words he'd chosen to describe me with, and I was being irrational and… Edward had a vasectomy before he was with Kate Denali in 1998?

"After you… I wouldn't – again. I was determined. I…"

My mind veered to page 212 of Edward's manuscript.

**All along, I knew that leaving was the right thing to do. I knew she didn't deserve what was in store for her. When I began losing control, when my mind became dark and inhospitable, I lay in my bed and isolated myself from her, and I berated myself for my own inability to leave. Then, when she said she was pregnant, all of my nightmares came true, my tenuous hold on reality and on Bella snapped, and all I could think, the only thought present in my mind, was, "Leave!"**

"I was fucking determined to make certain I'd never repeat any of that. Sometimes, though, it's not one hundred percent. There was always a small chance that I was her father. Kate came to me. She _wanted_ it to be me. In the end, it turns out that you can't karmically right old wrongs. Kate could want me infinitely, but it could never change how I felt, and I always wanted it to be you. After years, she'd had enough. I can't blame her."

"You were such an asshole." I was probably commenting about page 212, but Edward didn't seem fazed.

"I know. I never tried-"

"No, you didn't. But I loved you anyway."

His smile was sad. "Just tell me you're happy now."

"Finally," I allowed. "Finally, I am."

"She's beautiful."

"Alice," I sighed, shaking my head.

"Alice is attractive enough, but I was referring to the pictures I've seen of your daughter. She looks like you."

"And Seth," I added.

Edward glanced at the wall and clenched his hand into a fist.

He'd just opened up to me about intimate details of his relationship with Kate Denali, but I couldn't reciprocate. I wouldn't explain Little One's existence.

"She's a runner," I offered, veering away from my talk of Seth. "Almost from the first day she could walk. And a bandit. You turn your back for a second and she's somehow got her little hands on a staple gun and a glass of whiskey."

Edward smiled.

"And she likes to chew on phone chargers and electrical cords."

Smiles turned to an earnest chuckle.

"And she's wanted to jump off the couch since way before she knew how to walk."

"Elizabeth was so quiet and content at that age that she worried me. She could sit forever studying the way light would shatter through a sun catcher. She reminded me of… of earlier times."

"She's so pretty," I gushed. "Don't worry, not Alice this time. US Magazine."

Edward's smile faltered. I was an idiot. I couldn't believe I'd brought up all of the negative tabloid press. Water was my friend. At least I didn't choke that time around.

"So, she's quiet?" I asked tentatively.

Edward nodded.

"I bet she slept through the night, too."

"As a matter of fact…"

"Wow. Lucky."

"Yes, lucky."

"Little One still doesn't..."

"Little One?" Edward asked.

"Her nickname. Seth gave it to her, right after… after we found out. Here…" I dug around inside my purse. Edward pulled back from the table like I had another secret manuscript hidden inside. He sighed with relief when I came up with a wallet, instead. "I took this right after she got her hands on Seth's shaving cream" I pulled the picture from its plastic casing and slid it across the table.

"She's like a pint sized Santa," Edward laughed.

I had to admit, with her red onesie, big belly and that funny way tiny kids sometimes look like old men, Little One was something of a ringer. Edward and I bent over the picture, chuckling. We were close: our heads, our hands, or breath. I sat back quickly, shaken and stunned.

Edward's fingertips traced my Little One's outline as our food was placed on the table. Seth wouldn't like this, at all. I was playing with fire.

When the waiter left, Edward looked up from the photo, his eyes alight – it was the happiest I'd seen him in some time. "I'm glad for you, Bella."

He was; I could tell. And he wasn't bouncing off the walls happy, or pulling his clothes off and trying to fuck me on the table happy, he was happy that I had a child and a life. That was nice. That idea was dangerous. I tried to concentrate on my meal.

"Why am I here?" he asked.

I placed my fork back on the plate. I was insane if I thought I'd be able to eat.

"I don't know," I admitted. My scallops looked lovely.

"We were together, how long? Not even a year. Why does it matter?"

"Why'd you write that?" I countered.

Edward gave up on his food as well. He fiddled with his fork.

"I used to lose myself in the past. I'd obsess over it. Writing it down freed my mind to live in the present. If I wanted to reminisce, I had this." Edward tapped his finger on top of the pages for emphasis. "It helped make me closer to sane - a small piece of a much larger program. I never intended to do anything with it. I promise you."

Edward splayed his hand over the top page. I couldn't help but fixate on his fingers with their neat fingernails and the shadow of a ring. I wanted to cry, badly.

"I don't know what to do with my feelings," I mumbled.

"Who can do anything with a feeling? It's either there or it isn't."

"Is it there?" I asked, finding the will to look at him again. Despite the years, he was still Edward. I loved him. I hated him. Understanding him didn't necessarily make it any better.

"Of course it is."

"Did you really love me?" I whispered.

"You know."

"Say it."

"Why?"

I couldn't say it. I couldn't tell him I still loved him. I shouldn't have had to.

"Words could never be enough, Bella. They'd ring hollow after… everything. You know how I felt, how I feel. I can see it in your eyes."

My eyes… I was certain they were glassy and bloodshot. My eyes could no longer look away. My goddamned eyes told Edward I loved him, when I didn't want him to know.

"I should go," I half-sobbed, gathering my things, trying to disentangle myself from the emotions that were attempting to pull me in deeper. Trying to pull myself together and gather my things.

"Bella."

"What?"

Edward finally managed to grab my hand. Page 52 popped into my head as my body tingled to attention.

**She offered her hand and I took it like a gift, laughing at my own desperation to hold on – with both hands. **

"What about tomorrow?" he asked.

"What about it?"

His fingertips were rough against my palm. He held me. I let him. A gift.

"I'll still be here tomorrow."

"So will I."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"He saw my Santa picture?" my daughter asks eagerly. "And he liked it?"

We've had it turned into a Christmas tree ornament.

"Interesting," Seth allows, sipping at his own mug of tea. There are parts of the story that he doesn't know, either.

"And Alice showed him my picture too? And he said I was pretty?"

"Yes," I agree. "To each of your questions."

I'm rewarded with a self-satisfied smile.

"Edward was glad that you made me happy."

"Because he liked you," she replies back matter-of-factly.

"How'd you get so smart?" I ask my daughter.

"You made me that way?"

xXxXx

**May 4****th****, 2006 – Since he wasn't leaving... **

I found Edward sitting in the band shell at Golden Gate Park, instead of on a bench like I'd expected. With his legs bent and his arms resting on his knees, and his messy hair, he looked at ease. His jeans were perfectly worn-in, as always, and he paired them with a tan cable-knit sweater and classic Pumas. I was sure that I'd be attracted to him even if I were walking by and seeing him for the first time.

I wasn't just walking by, though; I was stopping in front of him, instead. Edward's face lit and my heart fluttered in my chest. He began to stand, but I hopped up the steps onto the stage before he could get to his feet, and I plopped down beside him.

Smiling came naturally. My hair blew before my eyes, and I pushed it out of the way.

"It's long again," he noted. I think he almost went to touch it, too. Twenty-four hours had made a difference.

I felt inexplicably shy. I'd spent all morning wondering how I looked to Edward - whether he noticed the tiny lines I'd detected at the corners of my eyes or the dark circles that hadn't disappeared after more than a year of sleep deprivation.

"It's good to see you," he said, watching me carefully.

"You too," I replied to the concrete at my feet, trying to hide the blush on my cheeks. It _was_ good to see him. Sitting next to Edward felt better than good. After so many years, honesty felt amazing.

"How's the Little One?" he asked.

"Separation anxiety. Leaving her this morning was… hard."

Edward nodded his head. "Been there. Feels like crap, huh?"

The idea that he'd lived through episodes where his little girl clung to him and begged him not to go warmed my heart - at the same time that it hurt. I'd spent a good portion of the night trying to imagine how I'd feel if Seth ever tried to keep me from my daughter.

"I was insensitive yesterday, Edward. I'm sorry about Elizabeth. I can't even imagine," I rested my hand atop Edward's. The sun slipped from behind a silver cloud, shining into our faces. That might have been the reason he looked away.

"I just want her to know how hard I fought," he said into the damp wind.

"The whole world knows."

"The whole world doesn't matter, though."

My hand stayed where it was. We sat in silence.

Dappled sunlight danced over our skin. I looked up into the sky. With the breeze and a glimpse of turquoise blue, I was back on Edward's rooftop - sated, naked, and happy, with a man that would do anything for me. He gave me sex in the sunshine, he called me his girlfriend, he wrote songs inspired by me, and fed me the best food on the planet. I was overjoyed and in love.

On the bandstand, I moved closer. Edward noticed.

"What were you wrong about, Edward?"

"Excuse me?"

"At the end of your… _story_. You wrote that you were wrong."

I watched the adam's apple bob in his throat. I felt the muscles in his hand tensing under my fingers. The breeze blew his scent my way.

"How long do you have?" he asked.

"I've got all day."

Edward looked at me with eyes full of regret. "I spent so long obsessing over the damage my father did when he was with us, yet I virtually ignored what happened because he was gone. I saw one outcome, Bella, but Jesus Christ, look what I did, and even so, look what a masterpiece your life's become.

"I tried to take that as a sign that I did the right thing in the end, but that's a fucking lie. My father didn't kill my mother; she lived a long and successful life, and she fought for me and for others like me every day of her life – the life she spent alone, waiting for a man that never came back.

"My presence… it could never have killed you. If I worked, if I stayed, there are so many if's… it could have been beautiful, you know? No death necessary. You were the only one that saw that. I can't believe how wrong I was. I doomed us before things ever got off the ground. I'm so sorry."

I couldn't face him as I silently wept. I looked for the bridge as I wiped my eyes. He turned his hand over and my palm fell against his. Long fingers closed over mine.

"Why am I here?" he asked again.

"You tell me," I asked.

"My life isn't complete without you in it. It never was before, and it hasn't been since."

"I know," I agreed, still unwilling to share my heart.

"Can I ask you a question, Bella?"

"I can't give you a guarantee I'll answer."

"Seth… do you love him?"

"Well, of course, but -"

"But?"

"But as a friend and the father of my child. I mean, it's not like… I've told you, Seth's gay."

I snuck a glance at Edward. He looked unimpressed. "I've heard that somewhere before. Nevertheless… you and he -"

"Not now! Just after Jake, and Seth and I were a mess, and then you showed up, and then -" I let Edward fill in the blanks.

Edward smirked. "So, essentially, you went with the gay guy over me?"

I shrugged and tried not to laugh.

"So, you two -"

"How many times do I have say that he's gay?"

"He fathered your child and lives with you? I'm thinking about ninety-nine more times."

"And this matters because…?"

"And why am I here, Bella?"

Edward waited. I held my breath.

"Part of me still cares," I admitted, before I lost the courage to speak. I left out love. I left out a lot. I felt okay about that, though. He could still see my eyes. Apparently, they were traitorous.

"I have to leave tonight."

"You have a life."

"So do you," he replied.

"We're in pre-production for my second film."

"I know. And I've heard amazing things about your upcoming novel."

"Alice," I laughed.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again; your agent only has your best interests at heart."

"And yours," I added.

"I never would have given that piece of… _writing_ to you."

"I know. And it's unfair. It's almost like I should write one for you," I quipped.

"Nearly everything you might have written can already be found in published form, in the subtext of each novel. I'm right, right? Tell me the truth."

"Everything that happened - it's, you know, part of me. I can't leave it behind. Everything I write…"

"From a masochist to a monomaniac," Edward quoted me back to myself.

"I'm not a masochist, though. I don't want to be hurt anymore."

"That's healthy."

"But just when I thought I was healthy, then -"

"Alice," he interjected. "And my therapy project."

"Yep," I agreed.

"I _am_ an asshole, Bella. It took me years to learn to put myself second in all of this. Even when I thought I was looking out for you, it was only in the context of this bigger-than-life, overwhelming idea of who I was. So, I promise you: no more unannounced visits. No more shocking declarations. You deserve to live your life unencumbered. But if you call; I'm there. Fair?"

"Edward?"

"Bella?"

"Maybe we could write."

He smile spoke volumes. It added a thousand pages to the 267 he'd already written.

"I think we could."

"We always wrote well together," I added.

"Among other things."

I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow. His smile grew. So did mine. I could write. I could write well. According to some, I could write better than most popular novelists of my time. I was looking forward to writing to Edward Cullen.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"So, Edward and I tried to be friends," I explain to my daughter.

"You wrote _more_ letters?" she asks, exasperated. "_Again_?"

"We did."

"When I was a baby?"

"A toddler," I correct.

"Did you know this, Daddy?" my daughter asks Seth. "About more and more letters?"

"I found out," Seth says as he shifts in his seat. I can smell the scent of bergamot from his cup. He's drinking black tea. Seth's been writing a book of his own about Walt Whitman's Long Island years. He's got a deadline and a long night ahead of him.

"Mommy showed you?" she asks.

"Nope, Little One, I just opened the mailbox. I was pretty surprised."

"I'm sorry about that," I say, much too late in the game.

"How about we call it even?" Seth offers.

"Even Steven?" my daughter asks.

"No, Even Edward Cullen," Seth responds dryly. "After all, if it weren't for me, who knows if they would have ever met."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sooo…. What do you think? Do I want to know?  
><strong>

**I'm writing a TiaL outtake for Fandom for Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, a cause near & dear to my heart. The TiaL facebook girls voted, so I'm writing about the little stuffed chick, from EPOV. I know, tear my heart out and stomp on it, why don't you. To contribute and get an advance copy of this emo-rific O/S, here's the link: **

**ht tp : / / fandom4lls . blogspot . com/p/where-to-donate . html**

**All of your support these past two weeks has been awesome. The reviews and comments you've written make me smile, make me cry, and make me jump up and down in my seat. Thank you! **

**It'll be 1-2 weeks before the next chapter. I'll Tweet & post on fb when I have a better idea. Hang tight. **

**Until then, xxx, M**


	19. Sweeet and Tender Hooligan

**A/N: MaryJaneStew can edit even with a bum knee and a little too much wine. KikiTheDreamer makes Masens T-shirts & she says she's finally seen the light…**

**Walt Whitman wrote **_**To a Stranger**_**, Pat Benatar wrote **_**We Belong**_**, Stephenie Meyer wrote **_**Twilight**_**, and I wrote this…**

* * *

><p><strong>Dearest Bella,<strong>

**I can't tell you how long it's been since I've put a pen to paper to write a letter. I also find it difficult to put into words exactly how I feel about the fact that I'm writing this inaugural letter to you. Perhaps the word 'complete' would do, but that sentiment doesn't account for my jumpy nerves or shaky hand.**

**Have I said too much? I probably have, but it's too late. I've already written the words and I've vowed not to do this over (again).**

**So, I've begun work with this band out of D.C. I know, I know… my New York roots die a little every time I think about helping out D.C., but these guys are phenomenal, so full of youth and promise. And they rock hard, of course. I've sent the rough cut of their first album on a cassette tape for old time's sake.**

**I'm pretty sure you'll like them and I'd love to hear your thoughts. I've always been awestruck by your commentary. Of course, you know that now. Christ, the things you know. I always tried to keep my mouth shut, and now I'm completely out of my element.**

**I mean, shit, I wrote c*** about thirty-eight times. Sorry x 38.**

**Anyway, this package was ready to go, but then I realized you might not have something to listen to a cassette with. You'll find a Walkman enclosed as well, just in case. You can find anything on-line these days. Remember when you had to actually get into a car and get your ass to some unlikely place, like the Riverhead Mall?**

**I hope your Little One and her father are well. (Does he really like men?) I'm still owed another ninety-seven assurances.**

**Edward**

xXxXx

"Fucker," Seth rumbles under his breath. I try to ignore his displeasure, because I'm short of breath and left with chills, just like I was five years ago when I first read this letter. I can't say my daughter is similarly affected. She's left Seth and I to introduce her new chick to her princesses. Sadly, letters have dulled the story for her. For me, though, they make it all the more sweet. After all, Edward and I began our unlikely relationship with a series of letters, and we began another relationship the same way.

"He likes you," Seth says with a generous smirk, evoking old teenage memories from my house on Long Island.

"He was just being nice," I add, glancing cautiously across the table. "That's my line, now, right? That's what I said, I think. And then you're supposed to say that he's not exactly nice."

"I'd be wrong, though. He _was_ being nice this time," Seth allows.

"He was," I agree. I trace Edward's writing. Old habits die hard.

"Did he really ask about me ninety-seven times?"

"More than that, probably," I giggle. "Did you ever think, back when you were a kid, that Edward Cullen would be jealous of you one day?"

"Uh, no. Back when I was a kid I had… _different _kinds of thoughts about him. As I got older though, I mostly focused on all the ways I'd like to see him tortured."

"That explains the awkwardness," I muse.

"I've gone over the bloody death part with him face to face. I left it hanging as a possibility."

"Well, all that's left is to own up to the sex fantasies, then. I'd advise lots of whiskey before you go there."

"I think I'll pass," Seth says. "I'm not into sharing these days."

Dimness settles in the dining room. I tell myself it's just the evening and the clouds, but we both know it's something else entirely.

"About Jared," I offer. I've focused on myself entirely too much recently. There are two adults in this family. We both have needs and we both have scars.

"About Chicago, you mean?" Seth asks.

"The musical or the city?" I laugh.

"There's nothing to talk about, Bell. He's halfway across the country."

"Half way across the country loving you."

"This conversation isn't about me. And it's most certainly not about Jared and Chicago."

"It's about love."

"Is it?" Seth asks. "I don't love Edward Cullen."

"It's about all the different ways you can love. And it's about how love persists if you're honest enough to admit it. It persists all the way to Chicago and back. Trust me; I know."

"About Chicago?" Seth asks.

"Chicago and love, Seattle and love, Phoenix, Las Vegas… New York."

Seth narrows his eyes. "You're being cryptic, Ms. Swan."

"I'm coming clean, Mr. Clearwater."

"And what am _I_ doing?" my daughter asks as she skips into the dining room with Snow White in one hand and the baby chick in the other.

"_You_ are bringing light into this dreary dining room, Ms. Swan-Clearwater," I answer, pulling her onto my lap and trying to trap her there with a hug.

"Are you _still_ talking about letters?" she asks with a dramatic sigh, eyeing the stationary on the table.

"We've moved on to the topic of love," I explain.

She rolls her eyes. I give in and let her go. "Tell me when you get back to the good stuff," she instructs, as she walks past us towards the back hall.

"What stuff is that?" Seth asks.

"The parts about me, or music, or… Mommy and Edward kissing," she says with a giggle and an assured nod of her head.

"What about tickles?" Seth asks and pounces at just the right time, tickle attacking.

"Daddy! No! No, Daddy!" she pleads and laughs and kicks. "Daddy!"

"Say please," he laughs and goes for her ribs.

"Plea… plea… pl - da -"

Seth continues his relentless onslaught.

"Please, Daddy! Please!" she manages.

"Since you asked so nicely," he says, giving in with a laugh and a kiss to her head, setting her on her feet.

She narrows her eyes, rights her sweater, picks up her toys and marches out of the room, keeping close tabs on her father.

I'm all smiles.

"Still thinking about love?" Seth asks, returning to his seat and his mug.

"Just loving you two," I offer, taking a sip of my quickly cooling tea.

"You never loved _me_ in Chicago, though," he says with raised eyebrows.

"Um," I hedge.

"You were about to come clean, Swan."

"Right…" I hedge, looking for an easy way out in the pattern of the tea leaves at the bottom of my mug.

"You could have told me, you know."

"I could hardly admit it to myself. I certainly wasn't in a position to fight about it."

"Who says I would've fought you?"

This time I'm the one to raise an eyebrow as I glance at my friend.

"Okay, fine," he allows. "This was what, June 2006?"

I nod.

"Your dad."

"My dad."

xXxXx

The summer and fall of 2006 remains something of a blur in my mind. My grandmother passed away, which wasn't alarming or heartbreaking in and of itself. Her passing, though, left my father to his own devices in Forks, which was a disaster in the making.

Rosalie contended that I should send sixty dollars and my best wishes, but Seth knew me better than that. We both made the journey back and forth with our daughter. We put nana's affairs in order and tried to put safeguards in place to keep my father sheltered and healthy. Eventually, though, after new gray hairs and exasperating heartbreak, we realized that the only viable option was treatment in an assisted living facility.

My father wasn't as easily persuaded, but it came down to the choice of having a roof over his head or living on the cold, wet streets of his hometown. Thankfully, when push came to shove he chose clinical care. To this day I'm quite sure it's the only reason he's still alive to see his granddaughter grow up.

While all of this was going on, I also had the production of my film to attend to. For better or worse, the producers seemed to want my input every step of the way the second time around. I spent what seemed like months making a never-ending loop between San Francisco, Forks, and Los Angeles.

With each pass through San Francisco, I'd find a letter waiting amongst the bills and junk mail. He left no return address, but I didn't need an address to know who they were from. The envelopes were made of thick stationary in deep purple or dappled gray, and I might have dreamt it, but I thought I could smell just a hint of cardamom each time one was torn open.

**Dearest Bella,**

**The way you describe the mossy green and pale gray of the Olympic Peninsula makes me long to visit. So much musical anger and discontent was born there, so much sadness seeped into our system as a result.**

**You're completely different than I imagine that place to be, though. To paraphrase Pat Benatar: you belong to the light. I have no doubt you change the entire environment with each trip. Suddenly sun streams through the clouds and musicians are inspired to write rock anthems and power ballads, women channel Aretha Franklin, and instrumentalists drown their audiences in soulful jazz.**

**I hope, for your sake, that your father is well. Personally, I'd always been of the mind to deck the man if we ever met, then knee him in the balls and have him locked up for the way he neglected you. It seems you're still the bigger person. The way you're caring for him speaks volumes about your heart. It doesn't quit; something I've admired about you for years.**

**We've never spoken about the details of it all – your mother and father, and how you landed in a library. I regret that I was too wrapped up in myself to focus on specifics. I'd like to think I could have been there for you, having a lifetime of experience with an absentee, impaired father.**

**I'm here now if you need ears to listen or eyes to read.**

**Edward**

Just like that, one of his letters could make me feel like a teenager again. Suddenly I was dissecting the lyrics of eighties MTV classics. Once again I was looking into songs like they held the key to some underlying truth.

_We can't begin to know it  
>How much we really care<br>I hear your voice inside me  
>I see your face everywhere<br>Still you say_

_We belong to the light, we belong together_

I know, I know… and I knew back then, too, how dangerous my childish thoughts were. Edward made his feelings clear in a much less cryptic, less sophomoric manner. He'd come right out and written it: he'd be there for me if I needed him. That and the fact that he thought I belonged to the light.

_We Belong, We Belong, We Belong together_

Light… Like the way his presence made me feel: light enough that I might float. Or light, like he'd wanted the room to be the first time we'd ever made love. It made me think about the dim amber light from a lamp on a nightstand, as large hands wrapped around my body, lowering a zipper. It made me think about the light that would glow from green eyes, silently checking to make certain I was sure.

It made me think about a man that was there, finally, forever. It made me think about light glancing off small buttons on an oxford and fumbling fingers with shimmering fingernails.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"I don't need the gory details, Swan."

"What?" I startle and blush.

Seth smirks. "Let's try to keep it PG while you come clean."

"But, I didn't… I wasn't -" I stammer.

"It's written all over your face," he informs me, and I know he's right. I feel the burn. "You want a refill?" he asks nodding to my mug. He doesn't need a response; he knows I want more.

I follow him into the kitchen.

"All we did is write letters through the rest of the year," I inform him defensively.

"Your mouth says letters, but your eyes say something different," he chuckles.

"Stupid eyes," I mutter.

Seth snorts and takes a sip of his tea. He hands me my refreshed drink.

"You were there… you know I didn't have the time for anything else."

"Chicago," Seth hums, like he's about to break into his best Tony Bennett impression.

"It _started_ with letters."

"Dude, I know," he groans.

"I'm just being thorough."

"I found out about the letters a few years ago, Bell."

xXxXx

**January 4****th****, 2007 – I've been keeping secrets**

I'll never forget that evening and the sinking feeling that came with the unmistakable proof that I'd been keeping something from Seth for far too long. Seth slipped the slate blue envelope across the dining room table as we sat for tea after finally settling Little One down for the night. I couldn't look him in the eye.

I wanted to snatch the little rectangle up and run to my room. Instead, I let Edward's carefully chosen and heartfelt words sit on the tabletop, momentarily unread.

"I hoped he'd gotten this shit out of his system with the baby gift," Seth sighed. "You should tell him to stop. This is harassment."

I gathered my strength and searched for my cool. "I don't want him to stop."

With those words, silence rippled outward from the envelope until the three of us: Seth, the envelope and I, were contained apart from the rest of the world.

"We… write," I tried to explain. "We… met once. We, I mean _he_ wrote about me… a lot, once. _We_… we share something… big."

"_He_ is unstable," Seth was quick to respond. "_He_ is sick. _He_ is insensitive. _He_ tore you up and spit you out. But, _you_…_Y_ou need to be there for your daughter. You are too good and too precious. _Y_ou -"

"Stop! Please, stop."

"Please think," Seth begged.

I claimed the envelope, pulling it towards me. "It's different between us now."

"Yeah, you're fifteen years older and you have a kid."

"He's different. And, well, it's not your business, really." Seth wasn't my boyfriend; he wasn't my father or my brother. There were no rules for disclosure, but even so, I knew the secret felt wrong. His reaction felt wrong. The only thing that felt right was the little girl asleep in her bed and the envelope in my hands.

"Are you kidding, Bella? I worry, and your daughter needs you. I need you and I don't trust him."

"I need this in my life," I tried to explain as I clasped the letter in my hands, electrified by the energy held within.

"You're daughter doesn't need that, though."

"You don't get to tell me what she needs, okay? I'm a good mother and you know it! Should we turn the tables? Does our daughter need a dad that fucks around with guys that are so awesome you won't even admit to seeing them, let alone pass it by me for approval?"

Seth shut up. He stilled. He may have even held his breath. We'd never spoken about his recent "dates". It's something I'd guessed a few months ago. It was a subject I didn't know how to broach. I didn't even know if I should.

"It's not cool, but it's your business," I explained. "As long as you're safe and you're present here at home when we need you, I'm not going to crucify you for it. Now, Edward is my business."

"I'm not crucifying you. Edward Cullen, on the other hand, I have a right to -"

"I don't even know their names," I countered.

"They don't mean a thing to me."

"Well, maybe someone should. Maybe what we've made here is beautiful and safe and… sterile. Maybe we both need to take chances with people that are name-worthy. Maybe it's those chances – all of those things that have the potential to hurt, maybe that's what living really is."

"My daughter is living. I don't want her hurt."

"Neither do I."

"I don't want _you _hurt."

"Edward and I are friends. They're just letters."

Seth glanced from the envelope in my hands to my face. It may have started as friends, but it had the potential for more and we both knew it; it didn't need vocalizing. Soon it _was_ more.

xXxXx

**Bella,**

**You've never looked more beautiful than you did in that last picture you sent of you and your daughter…**

xXxXx

**Edward,**

**Your letters make me smile. They brighten my cloudy days…**

xXxXx

**Bella,**

**Your presence has brightened my life…**

xXxXx

**Edward,**

**This new year seems so full of promise, like things are finally falling into place: my father's settled, the movie has a premiere date, the book's just finished its final edit, and each week there's a letter waiting…**

xXxXx

**Bella,**

**You're the promise in my life; always have been, always will be.**

xXxXx

**Edward, **

**On my last trip to L.A. I was thinking about a postcard you sent when you were on tour with The Masens. You wrote that you'd be interested to see what happened if someone as "New York" as I was tried mixing with all the blonde hair and false facades of Southern California. **

**All these years later, I can give you a definitive answer: a sunburn, a cough from breathing in exhaust fumes, and a compulsion to purchase Crest Whitestrips.**

Three days after I mailed my letter, I was at the computer trying to write when I heard that little email ping. Edward's name's flashed on the bottom of the screen.

**E: Really, I just wanted to see you in a bikini on the beach in Malibu. **

My fingers typed and I hit send. It all happened in less than ten seconds.

**B: You used past tense. **

I only had to wait an instant for a reply.

**E: I'm prepared to use present tense, but I wasn't certain it would be appreciated.**

**B: After childbirth, I'll take what I can get. **

**E: You have no idea what you're asking.**

**B: We should change the subject.**

**E: We should change to the present tense.**

I caught my breath and slid my fingers from the keyboard. Edward was clever. He could simply be talking about grammar. I knew, though, that if I answered, I would be saying much more. My conversation with Seth swirled in my mind. With a few keystrokes I would be opening myself up to the possibility of pain.

I took a deep breath and typed a reply.

**B: I'll be in New York for a signing about three months from now.**

**E: I can live with the future tense.**

**B: I can't wait to see you.**

**E: You just assume that I'm free?**

**B: Um…**

**E: I'd fly to a reading in Moscow if you asked.**

**B: New York, April 17****th****, 2007.**

**E: Nothing could keep me away.**

xXxXx

**January 24****th****, 2007 – Some lines never get old.**

After six months of never-ending travel, I needed some semblance of stability and my family needed quality time at home. So, when my newest novel was released I agreed to an abbreviated book tour and had Alice schedule readings in six of my largest markets. I'd be able to fly in and out of each city within twenty-four hours, Little One could stay home with Seth and the sitter, and she'd hardly know I was gone.

Alice was fidgety on the flight to Seattle, the location of my first appearance. She bit her nails and re-glossed her lips and couldn't concentrate on the official-looking documents in her lap. She used the bathroom at least four times.

"Alice," I said, stopping her before she popped up for a fifth time. What is it?"

"Well, it's just been a while," she hedged, wringing her hands and peering at the clouds we were flying through.

"But it's only a reading. I can read, for goodness sakes. Geez, don't make me start second-guessing myself now."

"You seem happier these days," she said, changing the subject.

"Well, I finally have my father settled, I guess."

"Right," she agreed, searching through her bag, pulling out random trinkets.

"Is it Jasper?" I pressed. Over the years I'd noticed that Alice became jumpy whenever her husband fell off the wagon.

My agent stopped rummaging and fixed her big brown eyes on me.

"Jasper? Jasper was just out visiting Edward."

"Oh… I didn't know." That little bit of information left me inexplicably disappointed. It's not like I informed Edward about each friend that visited me in San Francisco, and I had no reason to think he'd been telling me about every little thing that happened in his life. I wondered if that idea might disappoint him as much as it did me.

The fasten seatbelt light blinked on just as the captain's voice informed us that we were beginning our descent. Alice finally found a pill bottle, popped a few tablets and chased them with what was left of the white wine in her little plastic cup.

"This should be a really good one," she said. "I'm not worried at all."

I was scheduled to appear at an independent bookstore on the outskirts of the city. Tall pines towered over the parking lot and Lake Washington shimmered just across the street from the strip mall we pulled into. Cars were crowded in and spaces were scarce. Sales clerks bustled to accommodate the overflow of patrons. They smiled nervously as I entered and offered free lattes from the café before sheepishly asking for autographs.

"It was such a beautiful read," a brunette named Susan demurred, eyeing her hardcover copy as I left a polite message inside.

"It made me fall in love with my boyfriend all over again," another offered.

"Yeah, my husband didn't mind me taking the time to read it at all," yet another clerk added with a sassy wink and a nod.

They all giggled. I blushed.

I'd picked a passage from one of the later chapters. It may have been giving a little too much away for those that hadn't finished the story, but I couldn't help myself. More and more over the past few months, these paragraphs in particular made me think of Edward. It was like I'd pre-written my own feelings, and then my subconscious had handed them to me on yellow legal paper. Now they were on display for the world over. I wasn't ashamed; I wanted to read it out loud.

"_Years passed and lives changed and so did Nathan. He'd picked up a wife and a serious career. He'd acquired an Irish setter and a house in the Hamptons. However, none of that changed the spark that lit when we bumped into one another at the grocery store._

_He caught me and I silently screamed. He startled. His hands knew me completely: the dilating pupils, the firing nerves, the arms he clutched, the chest that heaved, and the deeper secrets so much less obvious, but just as significant. There in the produce section, we shared an unmistakable moment that I immediate shook off with a canned smile, moving past him towards the deli counter._

_Some might say this was love lost, but you can't lose a love that you carry inside you forever…"_

When I was finished, people lined up with their copies of the book that I dutifully signed. Management limited the number of signatures to the first two hundred patrons, otherwise I might have been there all night, or at least well past my bedtime.

After I wrote my last dedication, I smiled awkwardly at the lingering staffers as Alice ran off with a manager to fetch my coat and bag. I stood and smoothed my skirt and patted down stray hairs, looking forward to room service and bad T.V. Suddenly and unexpectedly it was like Christmas; my nose registering the sweet and spice of it as long arms came from behind and large hands held a copy of my book before me.

"Tell me this isn't about me," came a deep voice whispered in my ear. I fell against a broad chest.

"Say it," Edward pressed. His shirt sleeves rubbed against bare arms, my back was flush with warmth.

"It's not about you," I answered with a shaky voice.

"Tell me without lying," came his amused, relieved reply.

As my hands closed over my book they also closed over Edward's fingers. I held on. His arms wrapped tighter. "I'm only contractually obligated to give two hundred signatures tonight, Mr. Cullen."

"I'm not here for a signature, Ms. Swan."

I spun. Edward caught my hips. The touch was too much for both of us. We stumbled backward.

"What brings you to Seattle?" I asked, surveying his gray-green suit and his hopefully smile.

"Have dinner with me?"

"What?"

"New York… three months. I couldn't wait."

"It's late," I hedged.

"It's midnight my time. Have dinner with me?" he pled. "Say yes."

xXxXx

I'd never seen Edward behind the wheel of a car before. He sped and weaved easily in and out of traffic. We laughed. He left the radio up to me to navigate. I settled on something old and familiar. Edward didn't comment on The Clash. He could have. He'd known each member of the band.

He drove without consulting a map as the sun sent up yellow rays behind the snow capped Olympic Mountains. He snuck glances at me. His leg shook nervously.

"You know Seattle?" I asked.

"I know where I'd like to take you."

"You've planned ahead."

"I've done nothing but plan," Edward admitted. "I drove Alice insane. I nearly drove _myself_ insane: my flight was late, and then they wanted to rent me a black van. What would you have thought walking out to that? Serial killer, right?" he chuckled.

I joined in the laughter. Edward clasped my hand and turned up the music and we jammed out to _Should I Stay or Should I Go_. I rolled down my window and the wind circulated our nerves through the interior as my hair blew across my face. I felt giddy, nervous, excited… high. I knew the feeling… I remembered. I loved it. I'd lived it. I wanted to scream as the bottom dropped out.

"Wait."

Edward's glance was nervous. "What?"

"Wait." I clutched his hand, closed my eyes and turned off the radio, and seconds later we were on the shoulder of the highway. The city's skyline glittered in front of us, purple mountains towered across the bay. Cars careened by.

"I, um… Edward. This, tonight… I'm sorry, but is…" I paused, breathed, worried, suddenly sad.

"Bella?"

"This - are you… manic?" I choked.

Edward's lips were licked, and his nervous eyes focused steadily on my face. "If I weren't medicated… maybe. It's hard to say. You make me happier than my prescription usually allows."

I took a breath.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have -" I began.

"No, _I'm_ sorry – for a million things. But tonight… I said I wouldn't do this. I promised I'd wait for you to ask to see me. We made plans for New York, but I went and bribed Alice and made reservations… and here we are, and here I am, doing what I do: sweeping in, surprising you, overwhelming you. I can take you back to your hotel and leave it at that."

"Medication?" I asked.

Edward nodded, sadly - I think.

"I love when you're happy," I admitted. I hated that it hurt.

"Then it's a good thing we're here together," Edward replied. "You make me incredibly happy, Bella."

We found parking near the fish market and Edward held my door open and took my hand, helping me to navigate cobblestones in heels. He led me through a tunnel that ran underneath the marketplace and down a dank alley. I couldn't help but laugh.

"I've always had a thing for them," Edward said wryly as he took in our surroundings, squeezing my hand.

"One or two things don't change, no matter the passage of time."

"They don't," he agreed, stopping, taking my other hand, gazing into my eyes.

I knew what he meant. Despite the years that had passed, that same crackling vibration had taken up residence in the space between us. You could take the easy way out and call it love, but this was alive and electric. It was in the air the first night we'd met, and three thousand miles away and two decades later, it was back.

The restaurant was dim and quiet. We ate pasta and drank too much wine. Outside the window, lights from the ferries on the bay sailed past underneath the mountains' shadows.

We lingered for dessert. We laughed. I shared new pictures of my daughter. So did Edward. He'd made headway with Kate.

"One weekend a month?" I asked.

"It's better than nothing. She remembered me."

"Of course she did."

Edward stopped himself from whatever it was he was going to say. His lips parted; his eyes were intelligent and warm.

"Thank you for dinner, Edward."

"My pleasure."

We walked and cobblestones hindered us both this time. I eyed the steep incline and opted to take a break. My ankles didn't feel up to the task at hand. I placed a hand against the bricks, steadying myself. My back was soon to follow and I leaned against the wall. Edward paused and smiled.

"I'm not used to you drunk."

"I'm not used to you at all," came my honest reply.

"I could get used to this."

His hand was suddenly next to my head and he was leaning in and over. A bitten lip. Careful eyes pled. Another hand was placed next to my head. Edward hovered as my back slipped. Full of food and wine and Edward, I was feeling warm and wistful. I knew that I was the only person standing in the way of a kiss.

I chanced a touch - just my hands on his shoulders.

He quelled a smile as he waited. It had to be me.

My hands strayed to the back of his neck.

"Kiss me?" I asked.

His lips caught mine and their confidence took me by surprise. I was jolted: against the wall and through my middle. My fingers curled, my lips parted and a deep, lush sound vibrated in Edward's chest. His lips pressed insistently, moving a step ahead of me.

People walked past; heels clacked and slapped, but we ignored the interruption. His hands remained on the wall, but mine fell from his neck to his chest and around, pulling him closer. Bodies brushed, chests heaved, and knees weakened, yet somehow, I pulled away.

Edward's eyes glowed green in the flickering street light.

"Huh," was all I could muster.

His nose brushed against mine. My heart hammered.

"My hotel's close," I whispered.

"I can take you home."

"We could walk."

We did - hand in hand in silence in the dusting Seattle mist. Then he wrapped an arm around my waist, still quiet, and my head fell against his shoulder. The walk was too short. Edward's suit was damp. His hair hung over his forehead. The doorman had the grace to wander inside.

"I had such a good time," I admitted.

"I… I – I'm very lucky."

"I have an early flight."

"You don't need to make excuses."

"Can I just kiss you, then?"

The second time was just as sweet. It left me panting and bothered with disheveled hair. It left Edward incapacitated, with a forehead against mine as he attempted to gather himself. It seemed wrong to leave him with empty hands.

"Wait here?" I asked.

I rushed to my room and found a copy of my novel and a pen.

**Edward,**

**Thank you so much for a promise well-broken. I'm not used to your presence, but I'd like to try to get used to your kisses, maybe. **

**Bella**

xXxXx

That night I laid in bed: unsleeping, lying, dreaming, aching. I'd been on dates – many, many dates, but they'd been lacking the ease and the pull and the heat I'd just basked in. Edward was both an old friend and a new flame, burning bright in the rainy darkness.

I flicked on the light on the nightstand and found a pad. I wrote about my feelings and my fears until my fingers tired. I wrote until I slid flat on my back, until my fingers, slow and smooth, soothed the ache and stoked the fire.

Tonight memories mix one with another. The glow of dim lights in distant rooms and daydreams flip flop dates and play tricks with my mind. He whispered poetry as his fingertips slipped away the silk.

"…_you don't know how longingly I look upon you, _

_You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, _

_I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, _

_All is recall'd as we flit by each other..."_

My heart shook and my knees weakened as I listened to Whitman's words from Edward's mouth. My eyelids fluttered as his lips brushed against my forehead.

"_Fluid_," he murmured.

I lifted my face to his, finding his lips with my own. His fingers found a clasp at mid-back.

"_Affectionate,"_ I offered and he smiled.

I held my bra in place over my chest, suddenly, strangely shy. Years had made me modest.

"_Chaste_?" he murmured, Whitman holding true even then. Edward traced the lace of the cups before his hands slid to my waist. He held me and watched, and in his eyes I saw acceptance from a man that knew me inside and out, thoroughly.

"_Matured_," he pronounced, finishing the line from the poem.

I breathed. He breathed. We shared the air, our chests rising and falling in my old room.

"Loved, revered, desired," he added, interlacing his own ideas with Whitman's, making the words sink deeper. "Beautiful, witty, wise." They came in a quick stream as his hands slipped up over a bare back, and down over satin and lace as needy kisses took my mouth and parted my lips, and I was in…

"_You grew up with me, were a boy with me, I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only_," I murmured with lips whispering over his. After years living with Seth, I could quote Whitman in my sleep.

I felt Edward's smile. Whitman held a place in our hearts, hearkening sweeter days, so long ago and lost. He was a stranger passing by for too long, yet he was always there.

"_You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return_," he quoted.

I rubbed his stubble against my cheek, fumbling with his buttons, so I could press my flesh flush with his, holding him in my hands, which could never be big enough to take all of him and keep him. I'd have to leave that up to my heart.

"_I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone_," he continued.

And together in his room, this place, this apartment… he'd been alone so many years.

"Don't lie," I asked.

"Every night, Bella, even when I tried to forget. Every night, every morning."

"_I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again_," I quoted.

"You know the ending," he insisted.

I nodded, frightened of the last line. Edward understood. It went unspoken, but fluttered in the air between us.

I turned to look out the windows at the lights and the stars and the darkness. How many nights I'd spent wondering how he felt while I stood on that very spot, how many nights I'd spent in other cities wondering where he was and what he thought of me. How many nights I'd spent with others, how many nights I'd spent celebrating some milestone or another in my career.

"_When I heard at the close of day_…" I quoted from the first lines of Whitman we'd ever shared. "I get it now," I explained.

"I'm never as happy as I am with you," Edward murmured. I heard the subtle, healthy difference the years had brought.

His arms wrapped around me his hands covered mine, fingers interlacing.

"_And his arm lay lightly over my breast_," I breathed.

"_And that night I was happy_," Edward quoted back.

"So was I," I agreed.

A kiss soft and warm, brushed behind my ear. "Sleep with me, Bella?"

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"Don't even try to tell me he went back to his hotel," Seth scoffed.

"But he did."

"You're a bad liar, Swan. I mean, really, I don't care either way, but I can see the sex on your face."

"Edward and I didn't have sex in Seattle."

"Then what are you thinking about, pray tell?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Your reviews and Tweets and facebook posts put a smile on my face when I finally get a chance to sit and relax at the end of the day. Thank you so much!**

**Oh, that last unspoken line from _To a Stranger_: "I am to see to it that I don't lose you"... Sigh  
><strong>

**The next little chapter should be out Monday. Until then, have an awesome weekend. xxx, M**


	20. Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want

**A/N: MaryJaneStew was there for me through the entire weekend. She's the best beta, ever. KikiTheDreamer has an eye for style: polo shirts and T-shirts are her specialty. She's exclusively outfitting Edward these days & I'm very grateful.**

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

_"Don't even try to tell me he went back to his hotel," Seth scoffed._

_"But he did."_

_"You're a bad liar, Swan. I mean, really, I don't care either way, but I can see the sex on your face."_

_"Edward and I didn't have sex in Seattle."_

_"Then what are you thinking about, pray tell?"_

I fold my arms across my chest. "Nothing."

Seth rolls his eyes.

"Then after Seattle, he met me in L.A."

"And he didn't sleep with you there, either?"

"It's none of your business!"

"I'll take that as a -"

"No," I interject. "Just… no. I liked just talking and holding hands and, well, kissing… and stuff. But I was scared. He wasn't just another date, you know?"

Seth coughed on his tea. "Yeah, uh, I know."

xXxXx

**February 12, 2007 – Sigh.**

"Tell me this isn't about me."

I laughed and lit up. I'd expected Edward, this time. This time, I'd been the nervous one on the flight out of San Francisco. This time I was the one that drove Alice batty. She knew nothing. He hadn't called her once.

But here he was, looking inexplicably Californian in a heather gray polo shirt and jeans, his hair seemingly kissed by the sun.

"It's not about you," I laughed.

Edward leaned on the table, bringing his lips within inches of mine.

"If it isn't about me, I'm going to have to hunt this guy Nathan down," he quietly explained, pointing to the picture of the main character on the cover of my novel.

"And what?" I asked, attempting to look serious as I jokingly challenged him.

"And I'd inform him that we've kissed… and you liked it." Edward's smile was a tad smug.

"I never said that," I objected.

"You wrote it."

Edward opened to the title page that bore my inscription and pushed the book under my nose. "Have dinner with me?"

xXxXx

We strolled along the boardwalk at Venice Beach, the sun slanting over the water on its way towards the horizon. Venice was more deserted than I'd imagined it to be; but we chalked it up to the weeknight and the wintertime. The brightly colored shops looked overdone and lonely, while a few hippies and strangling tourists wandered past.

"I didn't pack a bikini," I giggled, squinting up at Edward, shielding the sun from my eyes.

"Well, this isn't Malibu. I can wait."

Edward could wait. He had waited. I squeezed his hand.

"Crazy about Em and Rose, huh?" he asked as he looked out over the gently rolling water.

"What?"

"I was such a dick to them in the beginning."

"Emmett and Rose?" I asked.

Edward turned and peered into my face, searching. "Shit. I guess I'm a dick _now_, too."

"What about Emmett and Rose?"

"You should ask Rose."

The skin prickled on the back of my neck.

"Wow, déjà vu," I laughed nervously.

"Not exactly déjà vu. We had this identical conversation about fifteen years ago."

"Really, though?" I asked. "Emmett and Rose?" Rosalie was married. She was practically mom of the year.

"I've said too much. Talk to your friend."

"I am… talking to my friend, I think."

"Your friend? Do you kiss all your friends?" Edward asked coolly. "No, don't answer. There's a certain friendly roommate that supposedly likes men, who I'm quite sure you've kissed."

"You're the only friend I kiss," I assured Edward, coming to a standstill for emphasis. The sun shined around his hair, making him look like an older version of some disheveled god.

"So, I'm a friend?" he asked. I was quite certain there were hundreds of women that would line up to be this man's friend.

"I don't know. Do you flirt with all your friends?" I hedged.

"Jasper and I have this whole flirty, touchy thing… but it's entirely inappropriate."

Edward and I laughed and he led me away from the beach to a glowing little restaurant nestled between houses on a tiny residential street.

"For some insane reason," Edward informed me, "I think about lighting first and foremost when I chose places for us to dine."

"It looks lovely," I enthused.

"You look lovely."

We may have kissed a bit before heading inside.

The wait staff was friendly, the food was delicious and my wine was fruity, with just a hint of spice. Edward's foot touched mine under the table, while his fingers brushed mine above. After we finished our meal, he helped me with my jacket. I felt his fingertips everywhere: my neck, shoulders, then slipping around my waist. I twirled and found him: his lips, his scruffy jaw, the pulse in his neck.

Edward was the one to pull away.

"We have an audience," he murmured, his hands on my shoulders.

I'd forgotten that we hadn't made it out of the restaurant.

Warmth traveled down my face and over my chest. Edward took my hand, laughing. We retraced our steps back up the boardwalk. The sand glowed white under the light of the moon and the water rolled and crashed quietly as seagulls dove for food.

Edward stole kisses. I rested against the rough trunk of a palm tree and Edward leaned in. His body was just like I remembered, lean and solid, hot and hard. His lips were sweet though, gentle and needy. His hands ran through my hair and eventually rested at my hips. Edward's large feet shifted in the sand, sprinkling my ankles.

"My hotel's not close at all," I apologized.

"I'll drive you back."

Edward rested his hand on my knee in the car. I leaned over the console and kissed his neck, inhaling deeply, hoping to hold a small piece of his essence inside. When he finally pulled up in front of the hotel, we made out like kids. It was all I could do not to crawl into his lap.

Without warning, Edward leaned across my seat and popped open the glove box. I had the ridiculous notion he was going for a condom. His eyes twinkled as he handed me a small box.

"Crest Whitestrips?" I asked.

"I couldn't do anything about the sun or the car exhaust. For the record, I don't think you need these, though."

I laughed and tried not to smile, suddenly self-conscious about my teeth.

"Next time maybe I'll have the guts to bring a bikini," I offered.

"Next time," he breathed, coming closer. "I like the sound of that."

I didn't want to let him go, but I did. He brushed a stray hair from my face.

"Goodnight, Bella."

"Night, Edward."

I felt like I was floating as I walked away. When I glanced over my shoulder, Edward was watching. I blushed. He bit his lip. I turned around so he couldn't see as I mouthed the words, "I love you."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"I loved him."

"Past tense?" Seth asks.

"Now _you're _going to give me a hard time about grammar?"

"You're a writer; it seems a cogent point."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not spilling until you spill… about Jared."

"So not going there, Swan."

"Me either, then."

"Daddy! I need your help with the castle! It fell down right in the middle and I can't -"

"Saved by the kiddo," Seth chuckles with a wink and a quick kiss to my cheek. "Coming Little One," he calls, retreating to her room.

I take a deep breath, take my mug, grab a sweater from the peg by the door, and head for the porch. It's cold and wet and a freezing sheen of water coats the swing, but I take a seat anyway, curling my feet underneath myself and breathing in the warm, minty steam from my mug.

My mind retreats back to the place it wants to live this evening.

xXxXx

"Sleep with me, Bella?"

Edward's arms were wrapped around me, our hearts had been bared through poetry, and I knew it was time to give myself what I'd wanted all along. I nodded and stepped out of the dress pooled at my ankles. I was left in pretty panties and heels, and two pairs of hands were covering an unclasped bra. Lights from the skyline made shifting patterns across our skin.

A large hand slipped slowly downward, brushing over my belly, wrapping around and resting on my hip, playing with the strap of my panties. His lips left warm kisses along my neck, his hand went for my midline.

My eyes closed as I savored his touch - the way it could light me on fire and make me melt all at the same time.

Turning, the bra fell to the ground. His lips were on mine and I pushed the shirt from his shoulders. We walked with feet tangled, and I fumbled until his belt buckle was undone, followed by his fly, and suddenly I was crawling backwards onto my old bed.

His kisses came hard and his hands slipped beneath silk, and I shuddered and gasped as I closed in on naked. With Edward above me, I was pushed down and unwound, and he lost his trousers as he found a home between my legs. More kisses traveled lower until a nipple was wet and aching. My arms wrapped around and limbs intertwined as I searched for friction. Instead, I was gifted with fingers and startled, opened, and pushed down a waistband. A push and a stretch and two deep, harmonizing sighs… in the end it didn't take much.

We went still. Time stopped. My body was alight and awake for the first time since my daughter was born. I basked in a moment of peace and perfection, a moment of fullness.

I offered a soft kiss, and we were awakened to the idea of movement. With his first thrust my muscles contracted, and with another I was on fire. Edward's arms wound around me like steel, and I was trapped. His pace and his rhythm had me reeling: my mind was tripping over the decades while my body writhed in the bed.

But then his eyes found mine, and then he was breathing, pausing, loving me. I saw it plainly in his eyes; I felt it in the care his fingers gave to my face. Then, softly, sweetly, he kissed… and loved… and moved. Suddenly _we_ fucked instead of _he_ fucked.

"Edward," I whispered, knotting my hands in his hair.

"Everything," he murmured.

"Shh," I hushed, because I was afraid it was too much. I was afraid I'd cry.

"Love," he whispered in my ear before nibbling.

It was the closest I'd gotten to a profession. And then we weren't fucking anymore either; heart open, we shared more… everything.

"Edward?"

My mind was lost to a thrust, a whimper, clean sheets, my old bed, and moonlight and traffic and windows open to the wind… and Edward, of course, sighing and kissing, his heavy chest heaving. Large hands held my face, and with insistent kisses and moans, my heart broke open. He was strong; he held me together. He was strong as he drank me in.

"Fuck."

"God."

"Christ."

A word was offered with each movement. A word emphasized each spark. One word built on the back of the other as we scaled heights and scratched backs.

"Jesus."

"God."

"Holy. Fuck."

Blasphemous, reverential words were hissed and grunted, and were all that existed besides hands and lips, and eyes bright in the darkness, together.

Afterward we collapsed tangled and peaceful, with erratic heartbeats thumping in counterpoint. I felt myself slipping into sleep.

"I love you, Bella," he murmured in my ear.

This time he wanted me to hear about his heart; he looked into my sleepy eyes, making certain I was still somewhat awake.

"I -" ended the evening with a kiss.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"I think I saved a kingdom from certain demise."

"Huh?"

"Her castle was falling. Dude, Bell, you're something tonight. We leave you to your own devices for a night and you've got sex on the brain."

I hide behind my mug, looking toward the bay. It shimmers gray-blue in the dim winter glow.

"You want some time?" Seth asks, lingering by the door.

"I've had lots and lots of time. I don't need any more time."

"How long now?" he asks.

"A week," I sigh. "Forever."

"I don't know; it seems like the time's flying."

"In my experience, time crawls and jumps and then twists back on itself. Whoever decided time marches forward at a regular rate and rhythm was completely wrong."

"Regular rate and rhythm," Seth muses. "That's what they say about heartbeats, right?"

"Hearts. I don't know. Maybe."

"You were telling me about L.A," Seth prompts as he takes a seat next to me on the swing. He rocks and I shiver, but I'm grateful for the cold, wet air. Otherwise, I'm sure I'd break out in a sweat.

"Right, well, the next reading was -"

"Vegas," Seth says, completing my thought."

"Right, Vegas. After the reading, Edward took me to this little diner in the mountains just outside the city. They made these amazing sweet potato fries and sirloin burgers, and there were all these old autographed headshots on the walls. They remembered Edward. We sat by a window and the Vegas Strip glittered in the distance. We were the only ones there.

"Then there was Miami. The flight there was the longest I'd made without you guys. I missed Little One so much, and I kept interrupting our date to check up on her."

"I remember the calls."

"Yeah, I didn't exactly tell you who was next to me while I was calling, though," I cringe.

"Fucker," Seth scoffs.

"It wasn't Edward's fault."

He shrugs and stares off into the distance.

"Miami was the first time I could really tell he wanted more. He'd give me my space while I talked on the phone with you guys. He knew how it felt to miss a child so much more than I did, and he was really sweet and kind, but I could tell that he felt left out. He didn't say a thing as we walked hand in hand through Little Havana, and helped me pick out toys that a two year old girl might like."

"Madame Alexander?" Seth asked.

I nodded. Edward and I'd picked out a dark-skinned baby doll in Traditional Cuban dress. To this day, Madame Alexander was a favorite.

"The guy just can't keep his toys to himself."

"We had dinner at this little Cuban café, and then we walked over to the beach."

"Did you bring a bikini that time?" Seth asks.

I shake my head, blushing furiously. "It's humid there, and coupled with the spray from the surf… it kind of left little to the imagination by the end of the night. No bikini necessary."

"And half naked and wet, you didn't sleep with him there, either?"

"I didn't."

"Cullen's either a saint, or a glutton for punishment, or simply insane. And you know where my opinion on the matter falls."

"Yeah, well, he kind of confronted me about it at the next reading."

"Chicago," Seth hums. "Did you blow him in the windy city, or what?"

"Hey!" I shove Seth, and he slides clear across to the other side of the swing.

xXxXx

**April 1****st****, 2007 – A deal is struck**

Shards of ice hurtled from the sky. Edward and I ran into the lobby of my hotel, where we shook off the freezing wetness, laughing and stomping with red cheeks and noses.

"I thought it's supposed to be spring," I chuckled.

"I don't think spring starts here until June," he offered. "I've been to Chicago five or six times. The weather's been the same each visit."

"Why do you keep coming back, then?" I asked as we made our way to a plush brown leather love seat in front of a roaring fire.

"I wouldn't have." He pulled me close and encircled arms. "But I'd go to Moscow, or Morocco, or even Chicago…"

My hands found the way under Edward's wool coat. His hands were cold on the back of my neck, but his lips were warm. I eased into his embrace, pressed against him as Edward's hands wandered lower.

The fire crackled, people murmured, bellboys brushed by with suitcases in tow. I pulled away, opting to lean my head on his shoulder rather than make a shameful scene. We lingered in the lobby, fingers entwined, legs brushing, talking about my next reading in New York.

"It's at the 92nd Street Y."

"You're fucking amazing."

"I'm fucking frightened."

"Don't be."

"Do you know the caliber of authors that have read on that stage?"

"None of them could hold a candle to you."

"Stop it," I demurred.

"I can't wait to see you there, underneath the lights while the audience hangs on your every word. I knew it, you know, from the moment I read your writing."

"From the moment you read my journal."

"From the moment I read what you'd written about… us. Sex."

I pressed my thighs together and Edward's lips found mine. His hands were firm as they found their goal underneath my coat. I held the noises inside; he held me close. His eyes pled.

Of course, I understood. We were adults. We'd kissed across the country.

"Give me until New York?" I asked. "I… I – I can't keep you a secret anymore. I want to be open and honest. I want it to be right."

"You have to pass it by Seth? He's standing between me and your bedroom? He likes men, right?"

"Give me until New York."

"I already told you, Bella; I'll give you anything."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"And you came home and I was all, 'I'm moving out!'"

"You kind of took me by surprise," I admitted. "It was like our little life was suddenly crumbling."

"I knew something was going on with you. I know you too well. I could have fought you for giving me shit about fucking around, when it seemed pretty damn likely that you were doing the same thing. In the end, though, we were both grown-ups. I figured we just needed some privacy."

"I knew you'd be there for Little One, but I worried I was losing you."

"Dude, that's crazy. You can't lose me, Swan."

"I know, but still… if anything would be the last straw, it would have been Edward."

"Edward Cullen's much bigger than straw," Seth laughed.

"See what I'm talking about?"

"You still could have told me. I wasn't going anywhere."

"You were totally going somewhere," I counter. "You were moving out!"

"Okay, I _was_ going… like, ten blocks down the street. You know what I mean, though."

"It's a moot point. That was the last time, you know? It's not going to come up again."

Seth smiles, despite his distaste. "It's good to hear you say that. I'm really happy for you, Swan."

xXxXx

**April 17****th****, 2007 – I wore the prettiest underwear I owned. **

I had six hours and three thousand miles to ruminate. I could hardly sit still. Alice pretended she didn't notice at first, but then she clasped my hand.

"You two were made for one another," she said with a kind smile. There was no need to use more than pronouns. We both knew who she was referring to.

"But, Alice," I sighed.

"You've made him so happy, Bella. Tell me he hasn't done the same for you."

"Seth's not happy."

"Seth's just jealous," she laughed.

I shot Alice a look and shook my head.

"Seth wants you to be happy, just like I do. He worries, though. Me, I don't worry."

I threw another look her way.

"Fine. I don't worry _anymore_. All those other times I was more worried about you firing me than Edward's behavior."

"Well, _I _worry, Alice. Maybe I should have learned from my mistakes."

"People also learn from what they've done right. You loved completely and without reservation. We should all be so brave."

Brave? I was quaking in my seat.

I don't know if you've ever seen the 92nd Street YMHA, but it's huge and regal. The entire auditorium is paneled in walnut and detailed with gold filigree, with the names of famous philosophers written in the rafters so the audience members could compare you to them… Or, at least, that's how it felt as I sat alone on the stage, facing a thousand pairs of eyes.

My voice warbled when I started, and the mic hissed and screeched. I cleared my throat and began again. Slowly, my confidence grew – especially as I read the certainty of my feelings mirrored in my prose. With each successive reading, I'd progressed through my novel, until now, in New York, things were finally falling into place for my heroes.

"… _And then, at the end, he was physically there and my heart beat double time. He'd always been with me, but now the touch of his hand and the sight of his blue eyes made my feelings for him multiply, until I was certain I might burst."_

"_Shh," my mother warned. "Calm, down honey. You don't want your heart to give out."_

_She didn't get it, though, because if my heart chose that moment to expire, it would have been fine. I had lived in love, and I ended loved back."_

The applause was thunderous and the audience stood to their feet. A Q & A session followed, and it was difficult not to answer each inquiry with one word: Edward.

He was waiting in the wings, beaming and proud and his arms were there to congratulate me when I walked off the stage. He held me and swung me a little, and our kiss was familiar and breathtaking all at once.

"Come home with me?" he asked.

I answered with a kiss.

We took a cab from the theater, but gone were the days when Edward tried to undress me in the back seat. In fact, I think he was frightened. With long legs crossed and a hand over his mouth, he studied the passing scenery outside his window.

As the cab pulled to a stop, my stomach turned at the sight of the stately building I'd called home for such a brief span of time. The doorman was different, but the lobby hadn't changed: all marble and brass with a deep red rug leading to an elevator paneled in mirrors. Our nerves were reflected back from every direction as we rode to the penthouse.

I sought out Edward's hand and let him lead me across the landing, but I couldn't look as he opened the door. I held my breath and closed my eyes, and sighed only when his warm hand cradled my cheek.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

I knew the apartment was part of our past and part of Edward's present. I knew accepting him meant accepting everything, with eyes open. So, I opened my eyes… and saw the piano, and the high ceilings, and the tall windows. His home was smaller and warmer than I remembered.

"Are you coming in?" he asked.

"Um, yes."

We ate in the dining room, but I use the term "ate" loosely. My stomach tumbled and rolled, despite the perfectly baked chicken, garlic mashed potatoes and the pretty salad made with delicate spring greens. Our conversation was quiet and carried on to a background of music both modern and edgy.

"_Explosions in the Sky_," Edward said, when he caught me listening with care.

"It's like they've put what's happening in my stomach to music," I chuckled.

Edward laughed out loud. "Your impressions have always been priceless. I can't fucking eat either," he said, pushing away his plate. "We gave it a good try, though."

I sipped at my wine and Edward began clearing the table. He concentrated on silverware and filled with sudden, mischievous inspiration, I plucked a cherry tomato off my plate and lobbed it at him. I sputtered with laughter as it glanced off his nose. Another instant and one flew in my direction. I was able to duck just in time.

Edward grinned, but couldn't quite look me in the eye.

"Are you going to try to tell me that you're not the one throwing tomatoes again?" I asked, holding in laughter. "'_It's just you reflected in me, Bella Swan'_," I murmured in a deep, raspy voice.

"If you just took a good look at yourself, Bella," he began, as his smile grew.

"I think I've done quite a bit of that over the years."

"Then you know how lovely you are."

"I see who I am quite clearly… and I see you, too."

"Do you see us together?" he said, taking a chance and glancing across the table at me.

I hesitated for just a heartbeat. "Yes."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"You can stop there, Swan. I've got the gist."

"You know I'm not one to kiss and tell. Those are the only details you're going to get."

"Yeah, you keep it all to yourself, but then you play it all back in your mind like some X-rated movie," Seth says, poking me in the ribs.

I look out over the bay. Of course, I'd been doing just that all evening. I'm loathe to come out and admit he's right, though.

"They're my memories; I can do with them what I want."

"Still, it all took so long after that trip, though."

I sigh and battle the lump in my throat. "Elizabeth got sick."

"Right. And you were still scared," he says matter-of-factly.

Seth is right, again. I_ was_ still nervous. Little, innocent things would set me off. It was unfair to our relationship, or maybe it was more than fair. Who could tell? I don't know that there are rules in situations such as ours.

xXxXx

**April 18****th****, 2007 – Morning, mourning. Whatever.**

I woke to sunshine and strong arms. I woke to blinding light. I woke to rough breathing and white sheets. I woke to morning wood. Edward's head lay peacefully on his pillow and his arm was thrown over my waist. He was gorgeous: all lines, long limbs, and sparse salt and pepper chest hair. Waking like this was supposed to bring security, but instead it was deeply unsettling. Instead, it hurt my heart to see Edward so content, and to know it made me want to vomit.

The thing was, I'd been there before, when I thought that waking together meant the beginning of forever, but instead it had been a harbinger of the end.

Edward was still sleeping as I hurriedly slipped from his arms.

I found his shirt and pushed my arms through the sleeves as I made my way to my old window seat. I hardly recognized the skyline. The buildings were all taller; they'd grown too.

Pigeons pecked at the bare balcony as I tried to organize my emotions into some semblance of rationality. Edward was medicated; he was allowed to sleep. _But…but_… my mind objected… but what would happen when he fell off the edge? What would happen when the medication stopped working? Would he crawl into his bed and never come out? Would he walk out the door and leave me again?

Arms wound around me from behind and a warm kiss was placed at the crook of my neck.

"I can't live through it again," I choked. A tear rolled over my cheek.

"You won't have to," he murmured, pulling me closer. The warmth of his embrace was both comforting and claustrophobic.

I wouldn't have to live through it again… Why? Because he wouldn't leave this time? Because he wouldn't fall into a depression? Because he'd had a vasectomy and I was close to infertile? I turned to ask and I saw how much my despair hurt. I saw that he understood.

"Some things don't change," he murmured. "Not in this lifetime. I wish…"

So much had changed, though… the skyline, each cell in both of our bodies, my home, my family, my age. Things had changed dramatically. Why couldn't brain chemistry? What about disease?

"When you slept with me for the first time – right there," I explained, "I thought it was just the beginning. This should be a beginning, but it feels… confusing."

"I sleep, nine nights out of ten," he explained with a sad smile.

"It's not just sleep."

"I know."

I pulled my knees to my chin, wrapping my arms around my legs. Edward settled next to me, with Manhattan behind us, and the bed in front.

"Tell me?" I asked.

"What?"

"About the bottles in your medicine cabinet."

He gave what I'd asked for. Edward told me about Elizabeth, and how it all began to change with her birth. He was determined to make a better life for her than he'd had as a child.

"Instead of isolating myself, I worked to stay present. I loved her and I wanted to be there for her. She needed me. She needed me to be a better man than I was."

Edward looked from the messy bed to my eyes. "You needed me, Bella. I'm sorry."

"I loved you."

"You loved a hero; a stupid rock star that swept you off your feet and took care of you. I didn't deserve any of it."

"I loved you."

"Your use of the past tense is… sad."

"Please stop analyzing my tense."

"I will, once you start using the right one."

"You were saying that you were able to stay present for your daughter," I prompted, changing the subject, wrapping my arms tighter.

"It took work. It took counseling, psychiatry, so many tries."

"You used to hate meds."

"But I loved my daughter, and they managed to keep the worst of it at bay… they still do."

"But what about the best?" I asked. I knew the best was the hardest to scorn. I knew how addictive the best times could be.

"The best?" he asked. "The best are the moments I share with people I love. Nothing beats that, Bella. I'd give up the highs for Elizabeth. I'd give them up for -"

"No, please… don't say it."

"I would. I did. Of course, I did it much too late, at the wrong time."

"Yeah, timing's a bitch," I laughed bitterly.

"Tell me you don't love me, Bella."

I glanced at my toes, instead.

"I don't want to pressure you, but I don't want to waste any more time, either. Maybe I should take what you've given and be grateful, but I don't want to let the possibility go again. Remember that belief you used to have, that idea that what we had between us could make anything right? Whatever it was, it's still there. You know that, right?"

I slipped my feet out in front of me until they touched Edward's thigh. I concentrated on my breathing. Edward waited; demonstrating the new skill he'd been practicing. Waiting. He didn't want to wait any longer, though. He was asking me to take a leap; he was asking me to embrace the faith that I'd spent half a lifetime maligning.

I took a deep breath, looked into his hopeful green eyes and opened my mouth to speak.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm getting all sentimental because this story's coming to a close, but I'm a big believer in ending a story where it's supposed to end and leaving people wanting more. There's 1-2 more chapters & an epilogue to go. I'm gonna miss these crazy... adults.**

**Infinite thanks to everyone that reviews & tweets and rec's and takes the time to say hi and chat. It keeps me motivated when I'm tired and brain-dead and I feel like I'd rather watch four hours of DWTS than write... (So, keep 'em coming, because DWTS isn't ending any time soon).**

**The next chapter will be up in 1-2 weeks. Hopefully closer to 1... we'll see.**

**Until then, xxx, M**


	21. There is a Light That Never Goes Out

_**"There is a Light That Never Goes Out" ~Morrissey**_

* * *

><p>"<em>I don't want to pressure you, but I don't want to waste any more time, either. Maybe I should take what you've given and be grateful, but I don't want to let the possibility go again. Remember that belief you used to have, that idea that what we had between us could make anything right? Whatever it was, it's still there. You know that, right?"<em>

_I slipped my feet out in front of me until they touched Edward's thigh. I concentrated on my breathing. Edward waited; demonstrating the new skill he'd been practicing. Waiting. He didn't want to wait any longer, though. He was asking me to take a leap; he was asking me to embrace the faith that I'd spent half a lifetime maligning._

_I took a deep breath, looked into his hopeful green eyes and opened my mouth to speak._

"I love you so much it hurts."

The words hung between us in the chilly spring air. Edward gave them space while I adjusted to their presence. My body shook. I took another breath, closed my eyes and continued.

"I've never loved anyone the same way that I love you. It's irrational but very real. I breathe it every day, and it's, like, caught inside me, and when I think about forever all I can think about is-"

Edward's lips collided with mine, and I sighed and choked and cried all at once as his weight and his presence and his scent extinguished everything – everything except the sunshine, the thumping of my heart and my declaration. Open, raw and in love, I was overwhelmed and enveloped in Edward's embrace as he climbed on top of me and pushed me backwards so that I was lying on the window seat. He pulled my shirt away and the sunlight was warm on my breasts. His hands were rough and his lips tasted like salt and morning. Arms, legs, lips, in love, we were wound around one another until with a push and a tug we started to tip. We went from urgently loving to grappling and struggling as my feet fought for purchase and my hands clutched at the ledge. We slipped and tumbled onto the wooden floor.

Edward swore.

I laughed.

We glanced into one another's eyes, in pain and amused. We were the same two people that had crashed to the floor with a kiss twenty years ago, but we'd aged and changed. This time I knew Edward loved me. This time I hoped I could love him back.

We sat propped against the wall and Edward held my hand. His chest shook with silent mirth. His body moved with new ease like a weight had been lifted. He rubbed at his knee and nudged me with his shoulder.

"You always choose the worst places to make out with me," I quietly laughed, shaking my head.

"Twice in twenty years, Bella. It hardly counts as always," he argued with a laugh. I shouldered him back. We brushed bare knees and Edward winced. I pretended not to notice.

"You love me," he murmured victoriously, sneaking a glance, trying to hide a smile.

"It scares me to death," I admitted.

"I'd rather be dead than hurt you again."

My emotions roiled and I clutched at the baseboard for mooring. Emotional honestly had suddenly left me adrift on violent seas.

"But there's what you want and… and who you are, Edward. What you'd rather do - how much difference does that actually make?"

Edward held both my hands in his and waited until I looked him in the eye. It took some time before I could muster the courage. My stomach bobbed on whitecaps.

"I'm someone that, sometimes, has to work extremely hard at being a decent human being. I've been working at it since the day I left you, Bella. I can't guarantee anything - except that I love you. That won't ever change."

"I shouldn't need convincing, should I?" I asked.

"Convincing is the least of it. I'm lucky you'll even speak to me."

I _liked_ speaking with Edward. I liked that my knees were touching his. I liked the feel of his hands holding mine. I liked the look of his lap and I wanted to crawl into it. I wanted to lose myself in the sea storm as he folded me into his arms. I wanted him… I wanted the same thing I'd wanted twenty years ago – Edward's heart.

"You love me?" I asked.

"Forever."

"So?"

"So, you love me, too."

The glimmer of a smile was back on his face. He ducked to kiss the corner of my mouth.

"You knew I loved you," I murmured.

"You wouldn't say it."

Edward held my cheek in the palm of his hand and his nose brushed against mine, and for a moment we seemed to both glide gracefully on the waves.

"Neither would you, for about twenty years," I reminded him.

"I was afraid I'd hurt you."

"It wasn't the love that hurt, you idiot."

"Can we try again? Please?" he asked.

My heart searched for the tattered remains of its protective shroud. I ducked my head.

"How about we try making breakfast first?" I suggested quietly.

With a sad smile, Edward agreed. Standing up, he helped me to my feet and back onto solid ground, and buttoned the shirt over my breasts. All in all, we were disheveled and bruised, but we recovered with grace. Edward had always liked breakfast, and the years hadn't changed that fact. I sat on the counter and watched with a warm mug of coffee in my hands as he made batter, beat eggs, and unwrapped a package of bacon; and when he walked by I caught him with my legs and held him there.

Kitchens still held a certain allure for us; apparently that hadn't changed either. I wrapped my legs around him as his hands found their way under my shirt. But these days weren't a sun-soaked memory, and suddenly batter was burning and smoke alarms were screeching. I scurried to push open the window while Edward threw the pan in the sink and rushed to turn on the fans.

Before we left for the airport, I stopped in front of the door to Edward's old room, took a chance and tried the handle. Surprisingly, it turned, and before I knew it, the door was open. The room was clean and tidy – impersonal, really. The furniture had been changed and the walls had been painted. There were missing pictures on the walls, and piles of dirty clothes had long since disappeared. It had been turned into a generic guest room, just like countless other guest rooms in countless other houses.

I don't know what I'd expected – maybe to be overwhelmed with grief or anger, maybe to see shadows of the little naked girl that was still waiting for the younger, crazier Edward to return. Instead, there was just emptiness and dust. My footsteps echoed as I walked across the floor and opened the shutters. The sun's rays filtered inside, lighting the gray surfaces, brightening the place. It wasn't the room's fault.

Edward came with me to the airport. He held my hand in the back of the cab and helped me with my bags that had hardly been opened. We lingered on the curb. With a kiss and a brush of bodies, with eyes searching, I saw that his lips were poised to speak.

"You asked if we could try, but you've been watching me try, Edward. I don't have a choice but to try. Anything else would be like fighting the tide."

"Fighting the tide?" he asked. "Being with me would be like drowning?"

"It's like the difference between a tsunami and the Long Island Sound," I struggled to explain. "Both are water, but…"

"I'm the sound?" he asked.

"And the tsunami. All in one."

"I pull you under, while you're my sunshine," he reasoned, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Doesn't seem fair."

"It didn't go out," I murmured, laughing a little, fighting tears.

"You've known that for at least a couple years."

"Don't bring her into this," I pled. I was almost willing to let him hurt me again, but not my daughter.

Edward pursed his lips and looked to the sky like he was calling for help. "You love me," was the answer he came up with.

"So do you," I replied.

"I always did."

"I always will. I'm trying," I reminded him. "And I feel like I'm drowning, sometimes, but it's in the best way." I laughed. My metaphors were becoming muddled and my feelings were a mess.

"I already miss you," he said, pulling my body flush with his.

"I love you," I practiced speaking the words out loud.

"Say it again?" Edward asked with a shy smile.

"You're greedy."

"I love you, Bella Swan."

"I've waited a lifetime to be certain."

"Let's not wait anymore."

"Kiss me?" I asked.

He did. Long, hard, sure, he didn't just kiss, he cherished. I forgot about my fear and my frightened heart. I forgot to worry about my family and my sanity. I even forgot about cabs, flights, traffic and the TSA. Instead, I remembered the safety and the thrill I'd always felt in Edward's embrace. Instead, I gave space for joy. Instead, I clutched his arms and held on tight.

Then someone blew a whistle and the cabby yelled and banged on the side of the taxi, reminding us that he had to move on.

"When can I see you again?" Edward asked.

"When can you come to San Francisco?"

He paused. He thought. He licked his lips. We both knew the answer could be tomorrow or the day after that. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pushed the encroaching doubt to the back of my mind.

"Give me a little time to make some arrangements?" I asked.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"That's when you asked me if I could take our daughter for a weekend each month, like we were some divorced couple or something," Seth laughs.

I nod. I'm not proud.

"And then I struggled with Ikea furniture for, like, two weeks trying to get her room ready."

"That's not all you were doing those two weeks," I remind Seth, raising an eyebrow, giving a nudge. The two of us had both snuck around like teenagers. I take a small bit of solace in the fact that I wasn't the only one acting immaturely. "You were also doing Ja -"

"Very funny, Swan."

"Those two weeks were _funny_? That's an odd choice of adjective."

"Nice try at diversion. You were just getting to the part where you romp around your home naked - with Edward Cullen."

"I was _not_ about to get to that."

Seth narrows his eyes.

"I was going to be all girly and talk about the emotional push and pull I was feeling."

Seth groans. I shove him. He pushes back.

"Stop fighting!" my daughter laughs as she skips onto the porch.

"Not until your mom stops acting like a girl," Seth chuckles as he goes in for a tickle.

"Not until your dad stops acting like such a boy," I counter, trying to put up my guard.

"But you _are_ a girl and a boy!" Little One reasons.

Seth and I pull her onto the swing and we're complete: cuddled together and happy, despite the remains of my lukewarm tea that splattered on my pants during the abbreviated tickle fight.

"What's the end of the Edward story, Mommy? Did I miss it?" she asks.

"Your mom takes her time with stories," Seth laughs.

"I know," my daughter says as she rolls her eyes. "She's been telling me this story _forever_."

We all laugh. If only she knew how long it had taken to actually live the story.

"I don't even know where I left off with you," I admit to my daughter, feeling suddenly shy.

"You were talking about loooove," she says, drawing out the "o" and making googly eyes. Seth bats his eyes at me too. I go from shy to mortified.

"You didn't miss a thing, then," Seth explains. "Your mom just got to the part where she _finally _told Edward she loved him."

"Oh. My. Gosh! You told him that?" she asks, jumping in her seat, shaking the swing as she does so.

I nod.

"But, why?"

"Because I did… Love him, I mean."

"Do you love him anymore?" she asks.

"I think I've decided that real love goes on forever."

My daughter scrunches her forehead. Seth shakes his head at me, and then peers down at his daughter. "That's your mommy's way of saying yes, she still loves Edward."

"Is it?" she asks. "Do you?"

I nod.

"And he loved you and you loved him and so you liked him and kissed him and he was your boyfriend?" she asks. "And did he sing to you and writes songs about you again? And did you write stories about him again? And did… wait. You didn't live with him again. Edward doesn't live here."

"Love might not die, but life is hard. People are different than the love that lights them. I worried about the three of us. I didn't want to lose this."

"You can't lose a family, Mommy," my daughter says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Seth and I know, though, that families come and go much easier than my daughter can imagine. He clutches my hand.

"You'll always have me and your daddy, Little One. Always."

xXxXx

**July 2007 – I'm supposed to be an adult. I try not to run.**

The butterflies in my stomach flew away the minute I saw Edward waiting by the baggage claim. I held myself back from running, but couldn't fight the smile, and I wrapped my arms around him and offered my lips the moment he was within arms' reach.

"How was your flight?" I asked, when I was finally able to speak.

"Too fucking long. Happy belated birthday, Bella."

"You too, Edward."

We kissed again.

"How are you?" I asked, as we walked hand in hand to the parking garage.

"Fucking amazing - now."

"You're saying a lot of fucking," I laughed.

"And I hope to actually do a lot of -"

"Oh my god!"

I pulled my hand away, but he wrapped a long arm around my waist and pulled me close. "Don't tell me you have no interest in a little -"

A delivery truck rattled past, drowning out Edward's words, but I got the gist, and, yeah, I had interest. Edward laughed and held me tighter, making it harder to walk, a little harder all around. I couldn't look at him, but when I took a peek, I couldn't look away.

We took my car back to the house, and traffic was atrocious, but it gave us time to talk and laugh nervously, and it gave Edward time to lean across the console and kiss, and for his hand to settle on my knee and slip up to my thigh.

"Damn," he breathed as I pulled up to my home, ducking his head so he could see it all from inside the car.

"Is that a good damn, or an 'I hate it' damn?" I asked.

"God, I love you," he smiled, glancing over at me, and then back at the house.

"For my taste in architecture?" I joked.

"For everything."

I gave him the tour of the place, bursting with pride and feeling like I was walking through a dream sequence in one of my movies. I don't think my feet touched the floor the entire time. Edward Cullen was in my home: strolling down my back hall, using my bathroom, admiring my bedroom, lingering by my underused bed. Edward was standing in front of the mantle, studying a photo of my family: the one where my little girl giggled and wriggled in Seth Clearwater's arms as I tickled.

"I made dinner reservations with Alice and Jasper," I said as I wrapped my arms around Edward from behind, breathing him in.

"I know," he said quietly, threading his fingers with mine. "Alice is over the moon. What about -"

"We have some time," I hinted, tugging towards the bedroom.

Edward glanced around the house, slowly searching, before his eyes settled on my face. "It appears we do."

Something in the inflection of his voice gave me pause. Was he resigned and disappointed and aroused all at once? Suddenly I felt like I was seventeen, trying to dissect the mixed meaning in some simple phrase he'd uttered. It was an activity that was buried deep in my psyche, something I thought I'd grown out of. I should have asked him how he was feeling; it's what adults in relationships do.

Instead we slowly kissed. Instead, the possibility of undressing as we walked and kissed and tipped over onto the mattress in the sunshine took precedence. Instead, smiles and caresses and erections and limbs all came together in my home, in filtered light, right next to the closet where my deepest fears and deepest wounds were buried in a box.

I watched, eyes open. I let myself feel happiness. I forgot his tone, delighting in his touch, in the way it felt when we came together: alive, light, right. We still fit.

I forgot about the edge of sadness in Edward's voice until I came out of the bathroom after dinner and saw Alice speaking to Edward. He was fighting despair as she gave the kind of pep talk I knew all too well. I'd been on the receiving end for years.

All talking ceased when I walked onto the scene, though. Instead, I was greeted with hugs goodbye and promises to meet later in the week. Instead, Edward took my hand as we walked to my car. Instead my stomach churned while my head felt just right as it found a home against his shoulder. Instead we shared a nervous ride back to my house.

I opened a bottle of wine. We sat on the porch wrapped around one another.

"Your home," he murmured, and I couldn't tell if he was simply regarding it or whether he had deep, complex thoughts about it.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"It's… empty."

"What?" I asked. "I mean, I know I like Spartan furnishing, clean lines and stuff, but it's -" One look at Edward's face and I figured it out.

"You said that you wanted to tell Seth before we… _New York_. You wanted to do this right."

"I -"

"I want, maybe… more than you can give. And I can't blame you. It's my own goddamned fault," he sighed.

I wanted him there, next to me, more than anything except my daughter. I wanted to sit on my porch and get tipsy and to have him kiss my neck and my lips, and then take things inside. I wanted to go to sleep with Edward in my bed. I wanted to see what waking up next to him in San Francisco felt like. "I want you," I choked, because I did.

"I'll take it, then."

"I never thought you'd be sitting here with me."

"Did you ever _want_ me sitting here?" he asked, his face lined with worry.

"Against my better judgment."

"And now?"

"Now, I want you more, and now I'd like to think my judgment's more sound."

"I want everything," he whispered, his lips against mine. They smelled of merlot. I tasted.

"I thought I _was_ everything."

"Now it means more than just you," he wrapped his arms around my body. "The definition keeps expanding on me. It's frustrating."

"You've got me."

"You mean that?"

He'd always had me, even when I didn't want him to. "Yes."

"Then I'll see to it that I don't lose you." With the last line of Whitman's poem finally out in the open, and a clutch and a long kiss, he stood to his feet and carried me inside.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"He kissed you right here?" my daughter asks, looking under her bottom like there should be evidence.

"On this swing? Ew!" Seth laughs, jumping theatrically to his feet.

"Stop it," I chuckle.

"The swing, Swan?"

"Please! We just kissed."

"You and your_ just_ kissing," Seth says, shaking his head, settling back down. I glance meaningfully at our six year-old daughter. Her narrowed eyes give away the gears that are turning inside her head. I'm not ready for the birds and the bees back to back with the story of Edward Cullen and me.

Seth comes to the rescue.

"Did you _just_ kiss on the couch, too?" he asks.

I shake my head and roll my eyes. It's not much of a rescue and he knows it. I give him a kick.

"Did you just kiss Edward in the dining room, Mommy?"

"Did you just kiss in front of the fireplace?" Seth chimes in.

"Did you just kiss on the potty?" my daughter laughs.

"Yuck!" Seth spits.

"Ew!" I shudder.

My daughter falls against me, shaking with laughter.

xXxXx

**2007, 2008, 2009 – The months fly by.**

Edward took what I could give. He came to San Francisco each month and we learned each other again… We read the paper in bed. He valiantly attempted to teach me to cook. We worked side by side on the sofa with big mugs of coffee and scones.

Those were my family-less weekends where I indulged the long-ignored part of my heart. Those were the weekends we'd spend half dressed, when we'd build a fire, when we re-lived that perfect month from so long ago in a much more moderate way.

Of course, there were times when we'd find a baby doll stuffed under a pillow on the couch, or I'd catch Edward lingering by the refrigerator where I'd hung Little One's latest picture. Those were the times when reality hit home: either I was wrong or we were wrong together. Edward shouldn't have been relegated to an extravagant secret, but I pushed my luck, and Edward let me.

It was easy to do when we could steal such bliss. Who wanted to face real life when we could spend rainy afternoons taking a hot shower, use all the hot water and then fall into bed together? Those afternoons we'd lie underneath fluffy down, ensconced in pillows and softness while we watched movies and kissed until it led to more. We'd slowly move together, shifting and sighing while Cary Grant told Deborah Kerr she should come find him when she was ready for love.

"Oh, god."

"Fuck."

And he'd nip at a nipple, and angle my hips and his chest hair would rub as he pushed and held me just so. And I'd gasp and press, and he watched as my eyelids fluttered.

Those were the days when we'd ignore the ringing phone, and the buzz of vibrating cell phones. We made up for lost years and other lives as we took our time with one another… Until the phone rang again and the answering machine clicked on and my daughter's screams and Seth's frantic voice had me up and out of the bed within seconds.

"…_climbing the bookcase, and I was telling her to get down, but then before I could get there it just crashed and she needs to go to the hospital but I can't get her into the car seat and…"_

"I'll be right there!"

I ran through the house looking for my daughter's insurance card and my wallet and shoes, until finally I stood in the middle of the living room without a clue about what I should be doing,

Reassuring hands grounded me as they settled on my shoulders. "Bella. Stop. Breathe. Let's get you dressed."

We worked swiftly and I worried in long, run-on sentences as my mind reeled.

"I always tell him to watch the climbing and those bookshelves were so dangerous and I knew it and now her arm and her car seat and, oh my god, I need to go."

Edward was half a step behind me as I rushed down the steps, but my eyes stopped him from going any further as I opened the car door. His mouth fell open.

"I'll call you, okay?" I asked.

"What? Wait. My flight…"

He didn't have a key. I didn't have an extra. He didn't really care about the flight. He wanted to come.

"I'll have Alice come by and lock up. I'll call you. I promise."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"Damn, a house key straight to the heart," Seth says.

"When I broke my arm?" my daughter asks.

"You didn't break it," I explain for the umpteenth time.

"That was the episode of the un-broken arm," Seth elaborates. "It still killed me, though."

"Yeah – the un-broken arm," Little One agrees. "I didn't meet Edward when I un-broke my arm."

"He wanted to be there," I assure her.

"You wouldn't let him come?" she asks.

I shake my head.

"Was that mean?" she wonders out loud.

Flashes of a phone call flit through my mind.

xXxXx

**April 2009 – Relief shouldn't feel this terrible.**

"_How is she_?" Edward asked when I got him on the phone the next morning.

"Well, how much did Alice tell you?" I replied. I knew there was no way he would have been able to go fifteen hours without hearing something about my daughter's condition.

"_Nursemaid's elbow_," he admitted. "_From what I read, it can be painful."_

"They had to hold her down for an x-ray. She was screaming. God, it was brutal. But they popped her arm back into the socket and she seems fine, now. They said it might be sore."

"_How's Seth holding up_?" Edward asked.

The question caught me by surprise. "Seth? He feels really guilty."

The conversation came to an awkward halt. Edward and I generally didn't speak about Seth.

"Edward, I didn't -"

"_I can't, Bella_."

"Wait. What?"

"_I… I'm sorry. I love you, but I can't keep flying across the continent for a fuck, Bella. I can't pretend to only care about getting you into bed. I… can't._"

He said he'd take me any way he could get me.

"But you said -"

"_When did I say that? When? I've put my life in neutral for you. I get it, but I can't do it anymore."_

"But -"

"_No buts_."

"Well, then what am I supposed to say?"

"_Everything… or nothing_."

"I'm not… I wasn't… I'm sorry."

"_That's it_?"

"I love you," I offered.

"_Fuck_," he swore.

Seth called for me from the kitchen. Little feet pattered in my direction.

"_And that's your cue to go_," he huffed.

"Edward -"

"Mama?" my little girl asked, tugging on my leg.

"_Just go, Bella_."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"And that was that?" Seth asks.

"But that wasn't that!" my daughter objects. "I met Edward, Daddy. So did you," my daughter reminds him. "Remember when we went on vacation in London?"

London was anything but a vacation.

xXxXx

"Somehow this doesn't surprise me in the least," Kate Denali muttered, leaving Edward and I alone and holding hands in the hospital's waiting room.

"I should go," I offered.

"Never leave me again?" Edward asked.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"Edward never called me back, but it was because Elizabeth got sick," I explain to my daughter.

"His little girl?" she asks.

I nod. Tears sting my eyes. "Really sick."

"And suddenly it all came out," Seth interjects. "Your mom came to me and told me she wanted us all to go to London. She told me about Edward – somewhat. I didn't know the whole story, but I knew she'd been seeing him, and that she cared enough to fly halfway around the world to be there for him."

"Your dad didn't want to leave his boyfriend, though. He suddenly had to do a little explaining, too."

"Jared?" Little One asks. "Hey, what happened to Jared, Daddy?"

"Jared's another story," Seth deflects. "In this story about your mom and Edward, we waited until my semester break when I could arrange a sabbatical, before we left for London."

"I missed my movie's premiere," I sigh. "Somehow, Alice wasn't angry at all."

Of course Alice wasn't angry. If it weren't for Alice I don't know where Edward and I would be today.

xXxXx

**May 2009 – Alice has always been fierce, from the first moment we met.**

"What the fuck is your problem?" Alice demanded as she stormed into my kitchen.

"Um, excuse me?" I asked, completely taken aback.

"You're really doing this? You're really deserting him._ Now_?" Alice asked, throwing her bag on the table.

"What? I didn't desert Edward." I was being stubborn.

"All these years, I thought so much more of you! All these years I was outraged right along with you. But to string him along by the balls, only to dump him when the going gets tough -"

"I was protecting my family, Alice – looking out for my child!"

"Oh, that's rich. _Your_ child matters while Edward's daughter sits in a hospital bed!"

"What?"

"I know you had a fucked up childhood, but that doesn't give you license to go through your selfish adolescent stage in your late thirties! He's been a saint to that kid, and for you to abandon him -"

"Alice, stop it. Just stop it!"

My conversation with Edward had haunted me ever since he'd hung up on me fourteen days ago. He'd given me an ultimatum: all or nothing. At first it didn't seem fair - considering all the years of nothing I'd lived through. It didn't seem fair that he was the one to make that call.

As day after day went by with nothing, though, as the thought of lonely years stretched out in front of me, I knew I had to try for it all. I couldn't imagine living without seeing him again.

I'd expected him to call, but the phone didn't ring. I'd considered coming clean to Seth. I'd hinted about Edward to Rose. I was taking baby steps while his life careened out of control. I didn't know.

"He's not good, Bella."

"What's going on?" I asked, taking a seat.

"How come you don't know about this?"

"We had a fight."

"He needs you."

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"London was foggy, just like here," Little One muses. "But Edward talked all about the sunshine in my heart."

"Edward," I breathe, remembering the state I found him in. "He was so sad. He was -"

"He was a mess," Seth says, completing my sentence matter-of-factly. "It was your worst nightmare, Bell. But, in a way, it was good. You still loved him."

"I did. And you met him and you loved him too."

"Let's not push it," Seth laughs. "I threatened the man's life and he let me. That was good enough for me."

"All kidding aside, you like him, though. Right?" I ask, checking in for the millionth time.

"All kidding aside?" Seth asks with that shy smile of his that he reserves for times he gives me glimpse his heart. "All kidding aside - if Jake came back and said he'd do anything for the two of us to be together, I'd jump at the chance. I'd do it over in a heartbeat, and I'd do it gladly. So, if Edward Cullen's going to make you happy, and as long as he's heard my threat of certain, torturous death if he screws with you, I can live with it… with pleasure, sweetheart."

I blink back tears.

"It's real," I murmur.

"More real than either of us have seen before," Seth agrees.

I open my mouth to argue.

"Don't say it, Swan," Seth requests. "No words necessary. I love you. 'Nuff said."

"What about me?" my daughter asks.

"What about you, Honey?" I reply, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. It's getting dark and cold – nearly her bedtime.

"What about when I met Edward? That's part of the story too, right?"

"It's a big part of the story, Little One."

xXxXx

**Full Circle**

Edward was as distraught as I'd ever feared to see him when I met him in London in the lobby of his hotel. His big bright eyes were hollow and glassy and his face was drawn. He obviously hadn't been eating and his clothing hung on his tall frame.

His hand clutched mine. I was glued to the spot, unable to move or speak. Everything I'd feared coalesced in that moment – seeing the love of my life devastated and half-dead. It brought back long buried anguish and the overwhelming need to curl into a small, helpless ball and fade from the world.

Edward led me to a secluded spot where we sat and I cried on his shoulder. He held me tight.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," he whispered, rocking.

"How are you?" I asked, because it was all I could think to say.

"I'm shit, Bella. She needs a marrow transplant that I can't give her. She's small and skinny and bald and she could -"

"No," I interrupted. "Just, no." I wrapped my arms tighter, willing it not to be true. He couldn't lose the one person that had kept him sane. He couldn't lose his daughter. If she was gone, he was gone, and I'd lose him forever… and I was such an idiot for not jumping when we'd gotten back together, for keeping him at arm's length, when I knew there would never be another person that made me feel the way Edward made me feel.

"I'll make her get better," I said, tearing myself out of his arms, so I could look him in the eye. "I can't lose you, and with her sick, and you -" I broke down, unable to finish, unable to figure out how to cure cancer in order to make Edward well.

"Bella, shh, baby. Please, don't you get it? You can't lose me. I've been trying to get you back ever since I left. You're everything. I'd hold on, for you, forever."

xXxXx

Edward's psychiatrist was working on altering his medications, but when life collapses around you, depression isn't eclipsed with a pill. Edward wanted to go to sleep and never wake up, but he got himself up to spend time with his daughter. He got himself out to dinner with Seth while I watched my daughter at the hotel. He got out of bed to meet my daughter and I at the park one dreary afternoon. It was foggy and cool, reminiscent of our home. The grass even glowed green like it did on the Presidio.

Edward leaned against the fence next to me and I relaxed into his touch. Sunlight filtered through the fog, settling on his bare arms. I held myself back from wrapping an arm around his waist.

"She's bigger than I'd have imagined," he said as his eyes followed my daughter's willowy form.

"Crazy tall - from her dad."

"And she has delicate features, like her mother."

I took a deep breath.

"You're nervous. We don't have to do this," he offered.

I _was_ nervous… and resigned. I did have to do it. I was never letting go again; the sooner they met, the better. I grabbed Edward's hand and led him to the swings. Little One skidded her feet along the ground when she saw the two of us walking her way.

"Hey, Baby," I said. My daughter scowled. She didn't like when I called her 'baby' in public. Edward's hand tightened around mine, almost like he guessed what had just happened between my daughter and I. He knelt in front of her.

"You're holding Mommy's hand."

"This is my friend, Edward, Little One," I said by way of introduction.

"Why you're holding his hand?" she asked me with her little brows knitted together.

Edward tried to let go, but I held on tight.

"Edward, this is my daughter, Thea."

"Nice to meet you, little Goddess of Light," Edward murmured.

Thea smiled and her worries about handholding fell by the wayside. "Mommy told you that?" she asked.

"I figured it out when I heard that you were born."

Her smile grew.

"But it's silly because it's cloudy a lot and foggy," she explained. From San Francisco to London, she was right about the fog.

Edward glanced at me and pulled his hand from mine. He slipped onto the swing next to Thea's.

"But here's the thing, Thea. The way I see it, there's a little light that lives inside each and every one of us. Those lights are always there, and that's actually a lot of light for one little girl to be in charge of."

"You talk like mommy," she giggled, glancing up at me "He talks like you, Mommy."

"I've known Edward a long time, Little One."

"Longer than me?" she asks.

I nod.

"Whoa."

"I know," Edward agrees. "I've known your mom since she was very young. Can you believe she's always been this pretty?"

"My mommy's the prettiest," Thea agreed. I leaned against the swing set pole. I could get used to hanging out with the two of them.

"Longer than Mommy knowed Daddy?" she asked Edward.

"No, not longer than your dad, but you know what?" Edward asked.

"What?"

"If it weren't for your dad, your mom and I would have never met."

"That's… weird."

"It is."

"You're old," she said, taking a good, hard look at the only man I've ever loved.

"Old enough," Edward hedged, cracking a smile.

"Are you a hundred?"

I laughed out loud. Little One backed up on the swing and tried to take off on her own. She still didn't have that part of swinging down, though. Edward hopped off his swing and helped.

"How come I never saw you before?" Thea asked, kicking out her legs at almost the right time.

"That's a long story," Edward hedged. "Maybe your mom could tell it to you sometime."

The story… our story. I gazed at Edward, and saw the whole story unfolding before my eyes: the enigmatic rock star turned reluctant lover, turned man that stole my heart and made me believe in myself. He was the same man that tore me apart and left me for dead, and he was the man that tried to win me back for over a decade.

Now he was desperate and losing his daughter to illness. Now and forever, he was loving me.

xXxXx

**Present Day**

"And now it's time for bed, Little One," I say. "I can tell you the rest of the story after I tuck you in."

"About how we stayed on vacation for a long, long time?" she asks. "About how Edward would swing me in the park sometimes?"

"About how we finally dragged your mom back home after six months," Seth adds. "Once Elizabeth started getting better."

"About how he calls you late at night when you think I'm sleeping. Will he call tonight, Mommy?"

"It's my story. I'm not giving away the ending. Now give your dad a hug, Little One."

"Night, Daddy," she says wrapping her long arms around his neck, kissing Seth's cheek.

"Night, kiddo," he says with a squeeze.

I take her hand and we walk down the hall, her bare feet padding on hardwood.

She climbs into bed. I no longer have to ask what she'd like to listen to. I place the needle on the vinyl and turn down the volume. My daughter and I listen quietly to the first lines of Edward's song about a father and son, a song pleading for love. He's found it. We both have, separately and together. Finally.

"What happened in the end, Mommy?"

"In the end I let myself love Edward again, and I let him be a part of my life."

"I know," she says with a sleepy nod and a small smile.

"How do you know?"

"You say it with your face when you say his name. Say Edward?" she asks.

I feel my cheeks burn. "Edward."

She giggles.

"You love him in the kissing way."

"He loves me too."

"He's nice."

"He is… now. And he tries very hard at it. He tries at loving, and at doing the right thing." I take a deep breath. "But he might not always get it right. Sometimes it's very hard for him."

"Because he gets sick and sad sometimes."

"But you'll always have me and Daddy. And Edward will always hold you in his heart, no matter how sad he gets."

"Like the light?" she asks.

"Exactly, like the light. You're one of the lights in his heart."

"And his little girl Elizabeth, and you?"

I nod.

"And Daddy too?" she asks.

We both laugh.

"What do you think Daddy would say about that?" I ask.

She shakes her head violently. Her brown hair whips around her head.

"They're more special to one another than either will admit in this lifetime," I decide.

My daughter rolls to her side and tucks her hands under her smooth little cheek. She's getting tired. I don't have much time.

"So, Little One, about Edward… He'd like to come live here now that Elizabeth is all better."

"What?" she asks, full of wonder, popping back up to a sitting position.

"He loves me, and he's loved you since before you two even met."

"Because I'm your daughter."

"That's part of it, but also because you're awesome and special."

"And because I'm a good dancer and a singer?"

"And smart and funny."

"And because I know The Masens and I like them best of all and I'm in charge of the light?"

"That doesn't hurt," I laugh. "So listen, Little One, it's not just my decision. It's up to you and your Daddy, too."

She raises her eyebrows. "Daddy?" she asks skeptically.

"Daddy's already given his okay, but I'd really like to hear from you."

"Where would Edward live?"

"Somewhere close to us, at first."

"What does at first mean?"

"Eventually, if things go well, we'd all live together."

"Even Daddy?"

"Daddy would probably keep his own house."

"And Edward would live here?"

The idea still scares me sometimes, but I want it more than anything I could ever imagine – all the people I love most surrounding me – living a life full of light and love.

"What do you say, Thea?"

xXxXx

**A/N: Wow… I can't believe that was the last full-length chapter, with just an epilogue to go. To be honest, this snuck up on me. In my heart I kind of wanted to drag it out into more than one. I mean, I could write a whole book about the years in this chapter. But this story wasn't about that, really. At least I don't think so.**

**I've met amazing people through writing this fic. I've been flattered and rendered speechless so many times as I read reviews and tweets and stuff. I'm SO, SO grateful for the support I've been given. **

**Thanks go to: MaryJaneStew, KikiTheDreamer, Kennedy Nicole Cullen, Fiction Freak95, TroubleFollows1017, LittleSis2010, Jaime Arkin, Obsmama Fanfiction, Michelle Cuppycake Collins and the rest of the WPoF, my facebook girls (from Cejsmom to Wonderfully Bedazzled and everyone in between), the Twitter ladies, TLS for supporting TiaL from the beginning, Rose Arcadia for the awesome blinkie, Indie Fic Pimp, The Fictionators, ADF for all the TiaL campfires, and of course Mr. BDC for making space for me to write and keeping me warm at night.**

**I've probably left out many, many names and I'm sorry for that.**

**Until next time! (sniff) xxx, M**


	22. Accept Yourself

**A/N: I want to thank each and every one of you for reading **_**There is a Light**_**. This little snippet from the future is for you… I think the story may have been complete without it, but, well, you all held out faithfully for an HEA, so I wanted to bring you the best that this Edward and Bella could offer along those lines… **

* * *

><p>I squinted through bright rays of light, cursing the dark sunglasses I'd left sitting on the nightstand in the hotel room. I'd be squinting in each and every shot.<p>

"But now I get to gaze into your big, beautiful eyes," Edward murmured in my ear. "There's always a silver lining."

His finger traced along the underwire of my bikini top. A wry smile played at his lips.

"How many years have you waited for this?" I asked.

Edward silently counted then shook his head. "Too damn many."

I didn't care to do the math, either. Neither of us had a head for numbers; it was the memories that mattered. Our lives were a patchwork of them, and they were woven into an existence that had led us to this moment - to one another forever.

"I bet you didn't picture this exactly, though," I mused, tugging my sarong tighter, glancing at the kids playing in the surf and then at Seth making last minute adjustments by the pier.

Edward paused. I was right, of course.

"Well, no, of course not," he chuckled. "But you were the world to me, even back when I didn't want to believe it. I just wanted you – everything. And now I have it. Different definition, same person."

"Just older and wiser?" I asked.

"You were always wise," he smiled, a glint in his eye.

"Nice _partial _save, Mr. Cullen," I laughed as Edward wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close.

Twenty odd years later, I still came to life when his body was flush with mine, when he gazed into my eyes… when it looked like he was ducking his head for a kiss. I was still overwhelmed by his presence - just like I'd been as a child. But these days Edward was more than willing to actually kiss me, and these days I was a grown woman in a bikini near the Malibu pier, instead of a skinny girl in a wet T-shirt near a swamp.

These days he wasn't afraid to touch. These days he wasn't afraid to say, "I love you, Bella Swan."

These days his eyes hungrily roamed my curves, and his hands eagerly followed. I batted them away, but looked forward to the time we'd get to spend together after Thea and Elizabeth were in bed for the night.

"And now that you've realized your life's purpose?" I asked, smirking.

Edward twined his long fingers with mine, his eyebrows raised in question. We hadn't specifically spoken of life's purposes. We lived them.

"You know… getting me in a bikini on the beach in Malibu," I clarified.

Edward's smile came easy.

"You got me. I did it all for a bikini," he laughed. "And now, I'm outta here."

He made to leave for the road, but I held his hand tightly in mine. "Seth would never forgive you if you disappeared now," I argued, laughing and anchoring him to our spot on the beach.

"That implies there's a chance the man might forgive me… ever," Edward chuckled sardonically, glancing over his shoulder at the four figures milling near the pier as the sun began it's purple and red descent towards the horizon.

The other members of our party were silent, black silhouettes from where we stood, but the set of Seth's shoulders and the way he held his hands gave away his nerves.

"Seth's just jealous. You're the man that lives with his only daughter."

"_And_ I'm the man he despises," Edward added.

"And the man that I love and make my life with. The man I can't live without. Seth will manage, for me. He's dealing."

"How are _you_ dealing?" Edward asked, bringing his attention back to my face instead of Seth's nervous form.

"You don't need to ask, Edward. You know."

Edward let me pull him close again, never tiring of an opportunity to press his lips to mine. We had a lifetime to make up for and we were giving it our all. I let myself momentarily forget the significance of the day, opting to bask in the setting sunlight and lose myself in the ebb and flow, the feel of my love against me. His jaw was rough and unshaven and his lips were chapped. His arms were dusted with fine sand that tangled in curling hair and hardened in place with dried salt water. Rough, gritty – I'd take him however I could get him, and I couldn't get enough.

Edward's tall, lanky body was the only one I'd ever wanted – and the feel of it's fit against mine was pure sun-kissed perfection. His lips brushed, pressed and parted, while a large hand cupped my face and the other slipped beneath my sarong. We shifted, moving in a miniscule, subtle duet, so that with a brush and a slide we reminded one another of all the possibilities we could explore once we were alone.

"… always kissing!" I heard Thea laughing in the distance, her voice partially muffled by the breakers.

"… happy," Elizabeth replied, her voice mostly lost to the wind and the surf. "… don't care... good."

Edward and I rested lips and leaned foreheads with eyes smiling, as his long fingers ran through my knotted, windswept hair. He _was_ happy this afternoon. We were both happy. That _was _good. Really, that was an understatement.

Elizabeth's first month in San Francisco with us had gone remarkably well; we'd all be sad to see her go at the end of the summer. Shy and quiet, her presence had grounded Thea a bit. Edward and I would wake up late to find the two of them reading books over breakfast. They told each other stories while lying on their backs in Golden Gate Park as fog drifted in patterns across the sky. There were times like this moment, when Edward and I were free to wander off, getting lost in one another, while the girls played at the water's edge.

We didn't have the luxury of getting lost for long, though.

Seth's sister, Leah jogged towards us from the pier, calling to the scattered members of our extended and unconventional family. It was time.

The sun's rays made the whitecaps glitter in gold.

Thea grabbed my hand and Edward hugged us both before the two girls ran ahead in a spontaneous race, kicking sand up at us as they went.

"You ever think you'd see this day?" Leah asked me as we headed for the pier.

"Well, I might have daydreamed about it when I was sixteen," I admitted.

Edward jabbed me in the ribs. "Seth likes men," he whispered in my ear.

I jabbed him back.

"I settled for you," I giggled back.

Edward tickled instead of jabbed. Leah rolled her eyes.

The minister cleared his throat.

I looked up to see Little One's arms thrown around her father's waist and Jared shifting uneasily from bare foot to bare foot. My heart swelled to bursting as Edward slipped an arm around my shoulders.

Edward and I had talked about marriage – from time to time late at night as we lay wrapped in each other's arms. Honestly, we saw no point. It was our love that had kept us connected over the years and across continents, not an institution. I was his everything. He was my forever. Those were bigger words than spouse.

That didn't dull my overwhelming happiness for my best friend in the world, though. In fact, with Seth's willingness to publically declare that he found a mate that would love him without shame, our lives finally felt right.

Of course, I knew Seth would always jokingly threaten Edward's life.

I knew that between Seth and Edward, every one of my meals would be prepared for me for the rest of my life.

I knew that Thea would have not one, but three men that would love and protect her.

I knew she'd start pretending to have a British accent like Elizabeth any day now.

I knew I'd never doubt Edward's heart again.

I knew he loved me.

I knew he always had.

I knew that love wasn't always easy, and that there would be times when it's existence couldn't overcome sadness and heartache.

But I knew that through it all, Edward and I had one another, and we would hold on forever.

Rays of setting sun shone around each of the members of the small wedding party on the pier.

"I do."

"I do."

"For as long as we all shall live."

~fin~

* * *

><p><strong>With tears in my eyes and light in my heart, signing off until my next project, xxx, M<strong>


End file.
